Phoenix
by laughingwarrior
Summary: Happy/OFC. Rated M for lots of language and lemons. Same AU as my other stories. After losing his family to cartel violence, Happy is dealing with feelings he's never had before. In the midst of that turmoil he meets Vivian, who captivates him as no woman ever has. For her, he learns to become a better man, even as the man he was threatens to destroy them. WARNING: Gets very dark.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N (updated):** For those who dig this sort of thing, I'm going to do a "soundtrack" for this story, too. I enjoyed doing it for Make Me Right (my Juice/OFC story). Same deal: a song or two that resonates somehow with something going on in each chapter. This time, for these characters, the selections will be bluesy (since Viv is a blues musician, you know).

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. Anything not canon, esp. any OCs, are mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1:**

"Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out," Bessie Smith

It was late, and Happy was tired in his bones.

The bar was crowded—damn, that's right. Saturday night. He should have just headed on to his shitty little rental. But he couldn't face that pit right now. He needed to decompress, and he couldn't do it there. He saw an empty stool at the far corner of the bar. People gave him his berth as he walked through and sat down. Good. On a night like this, after a job like that, it was good they gave him some fuckin' space.

He ordered a tall whiskey and thought about the night. The job. This one was messing with him, and he needed to work out why. Usually when he worked a job like this one—an interrogation, but with a big ol' payback kicker—he enjoyed the work. Interrogation, figuring how much and where to apply pain, when to back off, what the subject could withstand and what he could not, it was an art. He thought of it like a puzzle, a logic game. He enjoyed the screams mainly because of what they told him. The timbre and tone of a scream said worlds about the the screamer. It wasn't the pain itself he enjoyed. It was what pain did to the human psyche, and what that said. It was insight into the human experience.

The more the subject deserved the pain, the more at liberty he was to study. So he very much enjoyed jobs like tonight, where he could push the subject as far as possible, because death was the desired result, once the information had been acquired. And the motherfucker tonight had really deserved it. He'd dosed his girlfriend and had invited a bunch of his buds to a gang rape party. That girlfriend was now with Juice, one of his brothers in SAMCRO, and Juice was looking for some justice.

Something about this one, though, something about this one was different. Happy was in it for the payback tonight. He was looking to hurt that cocksucker just to make him hurt. He was angry—enraged, even—and he didn't even know the guy. Fuck, he barely knew Juice's girl. Frank was her name. He remembered that because it was a dumbass name for a girl. He didn't think he'd said more than a word or two at most to her. But she was so little and so young. She looked even younger—Hap could hardly believe her ass was legal. The thought of that nastiness happening to her when she was even younger? It made the red haze pulse in the corner of his eye. Bad shit went down when his eye started that bloody beat.

And bad shit went down tonight. He took it personal tonight. He needed to get inside that, see where that came from. He needed detachment to do his job right. He ordered another round.

The house lights dimmed. He hadn't noticed they were bright, but now the place was downright gloomy. He heard the sounds of a band keying up for a set. Fuck. Now it was gonna get loud as hell in there. He really should just get the fuck out of there. A guy stepped up to the mic and announced, "Alright people. Up for their last set tonight, round of applause for LEATHER!" The crowd cheered and whistled.

Leather. Sounded familiar. Or maybe the name just caught his interest. Anyway, he looked over. He was tall enough that even sitting on a bar stool he could still see over most standing people, so he had a clear enough view to the stage. And yes, the name had been familiar. He remembered the woman standing center stage, Fender Telecaster slung over her shoulders. Didn't know her name. Had never talked to her. But he'd seen her play before, somewhere, maybe here. Tough to forget.

First thing you noticed was her hair—wild, long, and black. It cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in waves; she didn't even try to tame it. Her face was beautiful in an unusual way, wide eyes that turned up just a bit, high cheekbones, full red lips. She had olive skin, like maybe she had some Greek in her blood. Would explain that hair, too.

She had the kind of body Hap loved to get his hands on: a woman's body, with nice, tight curves. A slim waist, firm, round hips, a rack a man could get comfortable on. Long legs. Those legs tonight were clad in black leather pants that fit her just right, making the most of her curves and her apple-round ass, topped with a wide black leather belt that laced in the front. High-heeled boots, too. She was wearing a blousy top, silk or something, with a deep neckline that showed off some really stellar cleavage. He couldn't tell the color in the stage lights; didn't matter. Nestled in her cleavage was a pendant with a large dark stone that sent off sparks of color as the lights it hit. When she put her hand up to the mic, he saw she was wearing a large ring with the same kind of stone.

And then she started to sing. She had a rich, sultry alto, perfect for the blues her band played. They played all the standards; she made the sexy lyrics sizzle, and the rowdy crowd was up and dancing. Happy just sat at the end of the bar and watched, forgetting for a minute the darkness that had been weighing him down.

Their set was winding down. The lights shrank to a spot, and she carried a stool over and set it in the middle. She held the mic to her full lips and said in a voice that made Hap's blood stir, "Got one more song for you tonight, folks. We'll bring it down nice and quiet before we send you on your way." She slid the mic into its stand and picked up an acoustic and plugged in the pickup. She strummed a few chords and started singing "She's Got You." The back of Hap's eyes started to itch, and he turned and slammed his empty glass on the bar, getting the keep's quick attention for a refill. Fuck.

His mother had played that on an endless loop, lifting the needle and dropping it down over and over again, after his dad split. The version he was listening to now was bluesier than the Patsy Cline his mama liked, but it still struck a chord.

He tossed the whiskey back in one gulp and got control of his damn self. He started to pull his wallet out and get the fuck out of there, but the set was over, and she was coming off the stage toward the bar, and he decided he wanted something else tonight.

He leaned forward and said low in the ear of the guy sitting on the stool next to him, "Seat's taken." The guy turned around with a look of disdain, which promptly shifted into deep respect once he got a load of Hap. He grabbed his pussy imported beer and got the fuck off.

He looked over at the singer and waited until he could make eye contact. When he did, he nodded at the empty stool next to him. She just looked at him for a second, then gave him a wry smile and tipped her head. She turned to say something to her bassist, and she headed over to him and sat down.

She smelled good. Like sweat and honey. He was transfixed by the pendant nested between her breasts, giving off sparks of light and color. He was damn well transfixed by her breasts, too. He didn't bother to hide it. "What you drinkin'?" he asked.

She smiled and turned to the keep. "You know what I like, Mikey baby." The keep smiled back and poured her a tall High West rye, neat. Huh. Top shelf. She didn't fuck around with her free drinks. She lifted her glass to Hap and took a long swallow.

"Thanks, baby." The smile she gave him was all sex. Her eyes were dark, dark brown, black in the low light of the bar.

Hap nodded and took a swallow of his own drink. "Nice set. You've played here before, right?"

She shrugged, "Thanks. Yeah, every few months or so. You know. We live on the road. That's the gig."

Some asshole with a wispy ponytail came up behind her. "Hey Viv, buy you a drink?"

Hap leaned forward and growled. "She's got a drink. And she's havin' a conversation." The guy stepped way back.

The singer—Viv, apparently—turned to Hap, one eyebrow up. "Baby, you got no claim here. I don't even know your name." She turned back and pulled the ponytail close. She smiled. "Thanks, Lonnie, I'm good, baby." Then she pulled him down and kissed him on the lips.

When she turned back, Hap was throwing cash on the bar.

"Name's Happy," he said as he got up and walked out into the night.

* * *

He pulled his Dyna into the garage of his rental and went into the kitchen. He hated this fucking place, but since the fire . . . fuck no. He wasn't going there. Not tonight. He poured himself a full glass of Jack, drank it down, poured another, drank it down, washed the glass, put it away, and went to bed.

He pulled off his boots and set them neatly against the wall. He lay down, dressed, on top of the covers of the snugly made bed, on his back, his hands behind his head. He was dog tired. While he waited for the booze to do its thing, he put his mind to sorting out his feelings about the night's job, but somehow every line of thought came back to his mother, his grandmother, his sister, her kids.

He shut that shit down. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep, "She's Got You" playing in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. OCs are mine.

**CHAPTER 2:**

"The Road's My Middle Name," Bonnie Raitt

Vivian got out of the motel bed and walked naked to the bathroom. She loved the silkycool feel of her hair against her bare back. If she had her way, she'd be naked all the time. When she came out a few minutes later, Joe was sitting against the headboard, lighting up a smoke. Joe was a nice guy, far as the guys she knew went, and he was easy on the eyes. Decent lay, too. Got the job done, anyway.

But she found herself thinking about that tattooed macho asshole with the ironic name. Happy. Right. Barrel of fuckin' monkeys, that one. Great eyes, though. Deep. Like that growly, smoke-and-whiskey voice. That voice got to her in the good place, down low.

She started getting dressed, stepping into her leather pants and shimmying into them.

Joe blew out a long puff of smoke. "You sure, Viv? Watching your ass work its way into those pants, I could go again."

She smiled as she hooked her bra. She always left after one go. More than that only got you entangled, got people expecting shit you didn't want to give. She'd had her fill of that nonsense. "You know I don't stay, baby. I like my own space." She pulled her blouse over her shoulders and buttoned it.

Joe stood, naked and hard, and walked over to her. He grabbed his cock. Not a bad cock, really. "Come on, doll. One more before you go." He reached for her with his free hand.

She put her hand to his shoulder and held him off, her elbow locked, her face stern. "I'm goin', baby. Get yourself a cold shower, you can't handle that."

He actually pouted. "Will I see you next time?"

Not acting like this, he wouldn't, no. She shrugged. "That's next time. I don't plan that far ahead." She zipped up her second boot and grabbed her bag. "But I'll see you around, baby. You have a good night now."

She walked out and headed to her own room on the floor above.

* * *

She showered when she got to her room and pulled on a clean t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. When she stayed in motels—which was most of the time—she always slept in something she could wear straight out of the room, if she had to leave in a hurry. She had a terrible fear of fire, and sleeping in motels made her especially nervous, having to trust all the drunk assholes passed out around her not to start one. Hell, sleep itself was a problem while so many strangers surrounded her.

She grabbed her Martin and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a moleskin notebook and a pen in front of her. She had notebooks full of original songs, and she thought a lot of them were really pretty good. But the people at bars didn't want to hear her songs. They wanted to hear their favorites. They'd played "Mustang Sally" so many times she thought one of these days she'd just scream. She was lucky they tolerated a woman singer. She'd try to slide one of her songs in every now and then, but people just complained. Still, she usually wrote every night until daylight, and then she'd see if she could sleep.

This night, though, the words weren't coming. She was distracted. She sat and strummed her guitar aimlessly and thought about that deep voice, getting all territorial a minute and a half after she'd sat down. That shit would drive her totally batshit crazy, but there was something dark and fascinating about Happy the tattooed asshole. Snake inked on his scalp. Subtle, baby, real subtle.

She grinned. She didn't suppose her snake tat was all that subtle, either. She just made people work a lot harder to see it.

She set her guitar aside and lay back on the pillows, sliding one hand into her pants, the other under her shirt. It was almost dawn anyway.

They'd have to be on the road out of Charming by noon. They were heading up to Washington, gigging there for the next four weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **In this AU, Happy has had to deal with some seriously bad shit. If you've read my other stories, you know what happened. If you're only reading this, you are getting some hints, though it hasn't been expressly explained yet. So he's perhaps a bit darker than usual (imagine!) right now, before he's figured his way through the thicket. With that explanation as a warning, I tell you that the lemons in this chap are a smidge on the rotten side.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. Everything else is mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3:**

"Rollin' and Tumblin'," Muddy Waters

_He dreams fire. Just fire, burning, burning. The rank odor of burned wood and fiber and roasted flesh, the way it clings and clings to everything: clothes, skin, the inside of nose and mouth and eyes. And screams. He doesn't know if they screamed, or if there was some sad kind of mercy somewhere and they died while they slept. He doesn't know, because he wasn't there. But he dreams screams. Wrenching, throat bursting, heart splitting screams._

Happy opened his eyes.

* * *

"Alright, we got one last order of business. Same night they hit us here, Lobos shot the shit out of Clearview Avenue, the block with Juice's weed shop and a couple of other businesses, including his girl's place—the game store or whatever the fuck it is. Her brother was hurt bad—if you haven't been to St. Thomas and paid your respects, get that done. It all lands on us, so it's up to us to get those places fixed up and back in business. Enough bad feelings for the Sons right now in Charming, and we don't need the heat from a bunch of insurance claims. Prospects can't do it all, though. I need some volunteers for rebuilding."

Clay nodded toward the left side of the table. "Juice, I know you're in." Juice nodded.

Hap sat forward. "I'm in." Everybody turned and looked at him, their skepticism or surprise, depending on the Son, clear.

Clay raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Why the fuck was everybody so shocked he'd do a good thing? Actually, _he_ was surprised he'd volunteered. He'd have done it, sure, if asked directly, but he generally preferred to use a hammer on something other than nails. "Yeah, I'm in. I'm gonna tear that look off your face, Trager."

Tig grinned. "You been holdin' out on me, Killer? There some pussy over there I don't know about?"

That pissed him off, but he wasn't sure why, so he pushed back his temper and played along. "Just yo mama's, brother."

The others around the table hooted and pounded the table. Hap sat back and grumbled to himself. No wonder he didn't go out of his way to do good turns.

* * *

Juice's girl was so damn little. Juice had told him she was 22, but that blew his mind. He watched her move around her shop, cleaning and arranging, flirting with her man, giving Rat and Phil heaps of good-hearted shit. Pierced and inked—really good ink, too. Day-Glo hair. Ten feet of attitude in a five-foot package. She stirred something in him. He didn't know what. Not lust, not that at all. But something. It unsettled him.

He thought about the guys who'd hurt her. He'd helped Juice deal with three altogether. The first one, that first night, had started with an interrogation. That interrogation had produced the names of the others. The last two had been nothing but retaliation. The kills were Juice's, but Hap made damn sure they suffered first. He thought about how much bigger those cocksuckers were than this little girl—one of 'em had been a fat son of a bitch, pushing upwards of 3 bills. He'd thought about her lying unconscious while they did what they did to her, and the red haze had started to pulse.

Even thinking about it now, he could feel himself on the verge of losing control. He took a breath, set down his tools, and went out onto the sidewalk for a smoke and a think.

He didn't know what the fuck was going on in his head. He'd hurt women. He'd killed women. It wasn't something he ever sought out, but when the job called for it, he did his job. And he wasn't averse to being rough with the women he fucked, depending on his mood and their attitude about it. But never an innocent. Never someone without free will. Never someone who hadn't asked for it, in one way or another.

Was that all it was? He was getting bound up because Frank was an innocent? No—didn't make sense, still. When innocents got hurt, the Sons retaliated. Yes. Sure. It didn't explain his personal investment here, his lack of distance. It was driving him fuckin' nuts, though, that's for sure.

When he came back in, she was standing with Juice talking about the progress of the repairs. He went up to let them know he was headed across the street to check on the weed shop. Without thinking about it, he reached out and put his hand on Frank's thin little shoulder. He asked, "How you doin' little girl?"

Juice looked like he was going to swallow his tongue, but Frank turned and gave him a hesitant smile. "I'm good, Hap. Thanks for your help around here."

Damn. He was struck _again_ with whatever the fuck he was feeling and gave her shoulder a little squeeze before he let go. He nodded, told them he was headed across the street, and got the fuck out of there.

* * *

After the work was done, he headed to the clubhouse to check in. Things were quiet there—surprising, since the place had just been shot up a week ago. Only Tig and Bobby were there. Tig was getting something started with a couple of particularly skanky 'Eaters. Damn, that psycho had some weird-ass taste in pussy. Even The Jelly Bean would probably turn those two down. Bobby was deep into a drunk, sitting alone at the bar. Hap was about to give the place up and head back out, when Neela, one of the more . . . _resilient_ Crow Eaters, walked out of the bathroom.

Kneelin' Neela, they called her. Bitch knew how to give some head, and she had a high tolerance for rough treatment. Hap decided that maybe spending some time putting it to Neela would clear out whatever weird gunk was gumming up his head these days. Worth a try.

He stood in the hallway and put his hands on either wall, blocking her passage. He smiled. "Neela."

She put her hand on her hip and gave him an inviting little pout. "Aren't you gonna let me by, Happy?"

"Don't think I am." He reached out and took her by the arm, pulling her into the office and closing the door. He leaned against the door and grabbed a handful of her hair. He pulled down steadily, forcing her to her knees in front of him.

She didn't say anything; she understood a Crow Eater's place: on her knees, pointing one way or the other. She unbuttoned his jeans and pulled him out, and he leaned back and let her do her thing. She'd earned her nickname, for sure; she was a pro on her knees. She knew what the hell she was doing. When he was ready, he grabbed her head and held her tight, pounding into her mouth. She took his thrusts, and his wad, without gagging. When he was done, she backed off him and sat back on her heels, looking at his cock in surprise.

He was still rock hard. It was a thing that happened sometimes, usually right after a job. That it was happening now he chalked up to whatever was fucking up his head. He reached down and grabbed Neela's hair again, this time pulling her to her feet. When she was up, he took her arm and gave her a tug, sending her toward the couch against the far wall. He pushed her onto it, kneeling on the cushions, her hands braced on the back.

He bent her over and pulled up her short skirt, exposing her bare ass, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a foil packet. He rolled the condom on and grabbed her hips tight. Then, changing his intent at the last second, he spread her wide and went up her ass in one hard push. She wasn't expecting that, and she gasped and whimpered at first, but she accommodated his girth after the first couple of thrusts, and then she relaxed into it.

When he stayed hard like this after blowing his wad, he lasted a long time before he'd go again. In retrospect, maybe going up her ass was too harsh, but she was getting into it. He didn't really care whether she came or not, but she was obviously going to, and he saw her bring one of her hands down between her legs to work her clit. She came hard, banging back against him. But he wasn't anywhere near done.

After a while, though, she started to complain. "Ah—Happy, come on. Ow—please? Hap, this hurts too much. Happy, I can't—_please_ stop."

Fuck. He pulled out, still hard, and she cried out. He yanked the condom off. He shoved himself back into his jeans and went out to the main room, stopping to flush the rubber on the way. Bobby was passed out on the bar. Tig had gone off who knew where with his skanks. Hap poured himself a glass of Jack and took it over to one of the big leather chairs. He sat down and leaned back.

In a few minutes, Neela came out, looking subdued and stiff. "I'm going, Happy, unless you want me to stay." She hesitated, then added, "I could blow you again, if you want."

He just shook his head. She turned and headed for the door. Happy put his head back and closed his eyes. Fucking her hadn't helped at all. In fact, he felt worse. Just as Neela was about to open the door, he raised his head and called out, "Sorry." Shocked the shit out of him. He was damn sure that was the first time he'd ever apologized to a Crow Eater for anything.

She knew it, too. She stopped, turned around, and just stood there for a couple of seconds, looking at him. Her smile was tenuous. "S'okay, Hap. Sorry I couldn't take it. I'll see you."

He nodded, and she left.

He was tired of trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with his head right now. He was just tired, period. Past few months, he was always tired. He thought about just staying put tonight, sleeping where he sat, but he hated starting the day in the commotion of the garage opening up. He needed a slower, quieter start. Alone was better, even in his shitty rental. He finished his drink and headed out.

That night, like every night, he dreamed fire and stink and screams.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thanks to the weekend, and the fact that my Friday night fun consists of sitting around noodling on my laptop, I was able to get this next chapter into what I hope is presentable shape. So a little earlier than I'd thought, here's the next post. :)

Thank you, thank you for the faves, follows, and reviews. I'm so grateful, and I hope I don't disappoint you!

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The rest is mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 4:  
**"I Need a Man to Love," Janis Joplin

"No Benji yet?"

Vivian turned at her drummer's question. She sighed and put her hands on her hips. "No, baby. Not yet. You see him at all today, Dex?" She went back to struggling with an amp stack.

Dex stuck his sticks in his back pocket and jumped up on the stage. "Here, let me." He took over and got the stack straight. "I haven't seen him since about twenty minutes after we went off last night. You think—"

She cut him off. "He better not be. I am sick to shit of carrying his fucking monkey around with us. He's been straight this whole trip, though. Maybe he just got himself some lovin', and he's being slow to give it up today."

Dex laughed. "Hope so. But you gonna be okay to play lead if he doesn't make it?"

She hated singing and playing lead guitar. She wasn't especially good at doing both at the same time, and she frequently had to stop playing entirely to sing the more demanding parts—which left them without guitar if Benj wasn't around. And they played their most demanding set list in Washington, where the crowds liked a little bit more rock 'n roll in their blues. "Fuck, Dex. Whole set's full of Janis. We need him, or we're gonna suck ass."

The drummer shrugged. "Got another idea?"

"Find the asshole. That's my idea, baby. You and Sean drag his ass in here, whether it's naked or tweaked or whatever his damage is. Then I'll kick him straight."

"Hey, he's your ex. You should know better than us where he'd be."

True. She thought for a minute. Better start with the easiest question and work out from there. "You went to his room?"

"Not there. And he's not picking up his cell."

They ran through several possibilities, all of which either Dex or Sean, the bassist, had tried. Finally, Viv huffed. "Well, baby, we're fucked. He must have gotten himself some tail. Hope so, anyway. And we don't have time for a manhunt. Guess I'm doing double duty tonight." She pulled out her phone and checked the time. "I gotta go back and get my sexy on. If I get my boobs right out there, maybe they won't notice when we're stinkin' up the joint. Fuck."

She turned to head to the dinky, dim back room supplied to the talent so she could get ready. As she passed the bar, a barback piped up, "Hey Viv—I had 'em make you a burger if you want it."

She turned and smiled. Kid was 20, tops—still pimply. Puppy dog crush. She leaned over the bar and kissed his cheek, which reddened instantly at the touch of her lips. "Thank you—Dylan, right?" He nodded—her ability to remember names as soon as she'd heard them had always held her in good stead. "That's real sweet, baby." She winked and took the plate back with her.

* * *

Well, so far it wasn't their best set ever, but she thought it was going as well as they had any right to expect. Vivian was going to have Benji Balls Flambé for dinner, though, that was certain. Also, maybe they needed a keyboardist. Though where they'd put a fifth person and that kind of gear, she had no idea. Not to mention a 5-way split. Never mind.

She could play lead damn well, she just couldn't sing at the same time, so she tried to compensate by putting some extra flair in her solos. They played a few more slow songs than usual, too, and she just strummed those. The crowd—a good-size one—didn't seem to notice.

She was just getting into "Maybe," to end the first set, when she saw a group of bikers in black leather kuttes causing a ripple through the crowd as everyone scurried out of their way. They walked up to a table near the stage, to the side of the dance floor, and cleared it of its previous occupants with a look. She almost laughed in the middle of her song. She'd always thought the bravado biker attitude—and it was universal, far as she'd ever seen—was simultaneously insufferable and hilarious, earned though it might be.

Then she noticed the scalp with the snake inked on it. Happy. She'd thought of that guy more than once in the past however many weeks since they'd last been in Charming. Considerably more than once. Often, in fact, when she was alone. He looked up and smiled just enough to show a hint of long dimples. Damn. She muffed a line. Fuck. She shook it off and looked elsewhere, out over the crowd, so she could finish their fucking set.

They got through it. As the applause was winding down, she said into the mic, "Thank you so much! We're gonna take 30, folks. Y'all stick around, get yourself some grub, toss back a few, and we'll see you in a little while." She turned to give Dex and Sean each a big hug. They'd done okay.

She turned to jump off the stage and caught Happy's eye. His head was tipped down a little, and the look he was giving her could best be described as "smoldering." She had to admit that she felt a little smoldered. But then he curled his finger at her, beckoning. No, baby. Not how that shit worked. She did not come when called, like a poodle. She smiled and walked past the table on her way to the bar. She heard his buddies razzing him as she walked past. Good. Learn a lesson, baby.

When she got to the bar, the barkeep, whom she'd first met earlier in the evening, leaned over and asked her what she was drinking. From behind her, she heard a deep, ought-to-be-illegally sexy voice say, "Top shelf rye, neat," as cash dropped to the bar from a large, be-ringed hand, attached to a fully inked arm. She nodded at the keep and turned with a smile to find Happy standing about as close as he could be without touching her.

"You didn't stop." It was an observation rather than an accusation.

"Nope." Her drink came, and she turned and picked it up, winking at the barkeep, then turned back and waved it at Mr. Keen Observation. "Thanks again, baby."

She leaned back, her elbows resting on the edge of the bar. Happy looked down at her cleavage and let his look linger a goodly while. She hadn't meant to, exactly, but her stance put her chest right out there for his lazy gaze. She was wearing a green paisley handkerchief halter top with a deep v-neck, the asymmetrical hem flowing over low-rise jeans, so there was lots to see. She let him look; what the hell. That's why God made 'em so pretty, right?

Then he reached out and picked her pendant up, his fingers grazing the cleft between her breasts. She gasped a little before she could stop herself, and he grinned slyly, showing those dimples. "Never seen a stone like this. What is it?"

She took it out of his hands, her fingers brushing his. "It's a black opal. It was my granny's." He took her hand and turned it so that her ring was up. "Yeah, this one, too. They're a set." Grinning, she asked, "Big into gemstones, are ya?"

He pulled his hand back and shrugged. "Nah." He met her eyes. Yeah, he had great eyes. There was something almost . . . sweet? . . . in them somewhere. No, not sweet—bad idea to make that mistake. But something soft underneath all the dark intensity. This guy was hardcore, though, no doubt. There was an aura of power and danger hovering around him; it was almost tactile. Which meant he was bad news, and she needed to be moving on now. Shouldn't get hung up on his deep dark eyes, like some kind of schoolgirl.

Instead of moving on, she asked, "What you doin' way up north?"

"Business trip. Viv—that short for Vivian?" He was still standing just a hairsbreadth away, and he loomed over her. Tall—6'2, 6'3, something around there. She liked tall. Oh, what the hell. She might have to take this one for a ride, bad news or not. She'd just have to keep an eye out.

"Yeah. Vivian." She took a long drink.

"Nice name. Old fashioned." He reached out again, this time taking a hank of her hair and curling it around his finger.

"Thanks." At least he hadn't pointed out that it was the hooker's name from _Pretty Woman_. She was surprised how many guys knew that fact about a 20-some-year-old chick flick—and then thought they were being charming by pointing it out to her. No, she didn't think this guy knew that little piece of trivia. She'd lay odds he'd never seen a chick flick in his whole life.

She found him fascinating. He was surprisingly forward and oddly reserved at the same time. She wouldn't exactly say he was flirting. He hadn't said anything she'd call a "line"—hell, he'd barely said anything—but he was finding all sorts of excuses to touch her, just slightly. It was all quite, well, seductive. If this was his shtick, it was finely honed. Because shtick didn't really work on Viv, and this was working gangbusters. She was starting to regret that they had another set to do.

Then he leaned in and brushed the side of his face against hers, taking a deep breath. She turned her head toward his, one eyebrow raised. "You smell good." Again, it was an observation. Not a compliment, so she didn't thank him. But she couldn't stop a little smile from quirking up the corners of her mouth.

"You, _Happy_, are a unique cat, I must say." He was close enough to kiss. She was tempted.

"Got plans later?"

Ah, there. Now they were in more familiar territory. She smiled. "Why do you want to know?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he put a hand on her waist, leaned down, and kissed her. She liked the warm feel of his big hand on her side, and his lips were supple. Yeah. She'd give him a go. She opened her mouth and drew her tongue across his lips.

He grunted and grabbed her waist with both hands, pulling her sharply against him. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. She was still holding her drink, but she brought her free hand up and laid it on his shoulder. She was starting to feel lightheaded. Hold up. She did not get swoony. That was bullshit. She pulled back, out of the kiss.

She had to close her eyes for a minute to regroup. It had been a _mighty_ fine kiss. When she opened them again, his dark eyes were intent on her. "Answer your question?"

She smiled. "Baby, it does indeed. Be patient, though—we have another set to do. You're gonna have to wait."

He nodded and leaned on the bar to get a drink of his own. When he had it, he lifted it to her and walked back to his biker pals. Oh, lordy. She was in for an interesting night.

She finished her drink and headed toward the back to meet up with Dex and Sean. Before she got to the door, she felt a familiar hand around her arm. She turned to see an agitated Benji. He was squeezing her arm so tightly that it was already tingling.

She pried his fingers loose and took a good look at him. "Fuck, Benj. You're tweaked. Dammit, baby."

It didn't look like he'd been to the motel since their gig last night. His long brown hair was greasy and lank, and his clothes had clearly been lived in hard during that past 24 hours. He got right in her face. Whoo. Nowhere near a toothbrush, that was sure. "Who the fuck was that with his tongue down your throat, bitch?"

This was all way too fucking familiar. When he was tweaking, Benj seemed to forget that they hadn't been together in almost three years, and he did this whole paranoid, jealous, crazy routine. If not for his tendency to start punching, she'd be bored of it by now. But she knew what to do. She pulled back and opened the door to the so-called "dressing room." Where Dex and Sean should be.

"Come on, baby. Let's go back here and talk. In private." He took a ratty little look around the bar and followed her back. Dex was beefy, and Benj was a skinny meth head, so the odds tipped strongly in her direction with the band around her. As she pulled him through and closed the door, she looked out and saw Happy standing, facing her direction. Oh, good Lord, don't let him have any kind of hero deal. Last thing she needed was a stranger in this mix.

By the time they needed to go up for their next set, Dex and Sean had Benj calm and on his second beer. The crisis seemed to have passed. They left him in the dressing room and headed to the stage. Vivian noticed that Happy was looking at her with a new kind of focus. She had a sense that the wild night she thought she was in for was either going to be a lot wilder or a lot calmer. She couldn't worry about that shit now, though. She shook it off and got into the set.

It was rougher than their first set. They were all distracted, and the crowd was drunker, thus louder and unrulier. That also meant, though, that they weren't as aware of any rough patches in their set list. So they ground it out. Then their cover of Janis' "I Need a Man to Love" came up. Toughest number in the set. She almost bailed, but then she looked out at the table off to the side and saw Happy. Singing that song to him could be fun. What the hell. She could pull it off.

She was pulling it off pretty well, in fact, and she had the biker's full attention. His buddies, too. Quite the ego stroke. Then she saw Benji making his way toward her. Oh, lord. He jumped up on the stage, grabbed up his Les Paul from its stand, plugged in, and jumped right into the lead, seamlessly. Viv turned, singing, and glanced at Dex, who shrugged back. Vivian eyed Benji. She didn't like his look, but he was playing well, and there wasn't much she could do about him now. She did, however, stop singing directly to Happy. She swung her Telecaster around to her back, pulled the mic out of its stand, and finished the song stalking the stage.

She'd finished and was catching her breath when she noticed Happy and all his biker friends jump up from their table. She heard Dex and Sean yelling behind her. Then Benji hit her upside the head with his Les Paul. She saw it coming a half second before it hit, and then she didn't see anything at all.

* * *

When she came to, she was propped against the amp stack. The house lights were up, the crowd was dissipating, and there were several guys sitting around staunching bloody noses or other parts. Broken chairs and tables, too. Oh, shit. They'd started a fucking bar fight. Lovely. There went their take for the night—at least—and probably this regular gig, right down the shitter. Fuck you, Benji. Fuck you very much.

Then she noticed that Happy was squatting at her side, holding a towel full of ice to her screaming head. She sat up and took the makeshift ice pack from him. "Thanks. Where's my guitar? Where's my band?"

He sat down next to her. "Guitar's there. It's fine. Bass player's talking to the manager, I think. Drummer has the asshole that started this in the back." Hap looked at her. "He's pretty well broken. Be eating Cream a' Wheat through a straw for awhile. Fuckin' meth head. Teeth like balsawood."

She looked at his bloody knuckles. "Your work, then?"

He didn't respond. He didn't have to. "You with that crazy-ass tweaker?" She could hear the sneer he had queued up if she said yes.

Her head hurt, she was feeling queasy, she was worried about how much all this was going to cost them, and she didn't feel up to a big discussion about her band's relationship dynamics with a virtual stranger. But she owed him some kind of explanation, she supposed, after all this. "Not for a long time, and he wasn't tweaking then. But he forgets that we're ex when he's high." She struggled to her feet; the room wobbled, and her knees buckled. He'd stood with her, and he grabbed her arm to steady her.

"You should sit. Probably go to the ER."

She let him lift her off the stage and guide her to a chair. "No insurance, baby. Can't afford the ER." She looked around the trashed bar and sighed. "Especially not now. Fuck."

He sat in a chair next to her and leaned toward her, gesturing to his buddies, who were picking up pieces of broken furniture. "We can help with that."

She turned abruptly and gasped at the pain that sliced through her head. "Why would you? You don't even know me—us."

He gave her a smile full of humor. She hadn't seen that look from him before. It changed his whole face. Instead of dark and dangerous, he looked approachable and funny. Yeah—almost sweet. "We're the ones turned it into a brawl. Good times, too. But we clean up our shit. We got it, don't you worry."

In the time she'd been unconscious, he'd gone and turned into a chatterbox. He must really have had fun. "Well, thank you. Really." She put the ice pack down and pushed gently at the side of her head, where a big lump was growing, sore as hell. "I'm going to have to bail on the rest of the night, though. Sorry, baby."

"Don't worry 'bout that, either. I'll catch up with you soon." He kissed her cheek. "Dump that mushy-mouthed fucker in the meantime. Meth heads are the worst kind of fucked up."

No shit.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **More darkness. And lemons. They're not all mixed together this time—though I do have something in mind with the juxtaposition. Also, as is apparently my tendency, the first-time sexytimes with our couple tend to, you know, go on for awhile. Lots to establish about their rapport.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The rest is mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5:  
**"Driftin' Blues," Eric Clapton

Juice was sitting at the bar, laptop open, when Hap walked up and dropped a piece of paper onto the keyboard. "Can you track this, brother?"

Juice picked up the paper and read it: _Vivian, Leather (blues band)._ He looked at Hap. "This a job? Or a chick?"

Hap just looked at him. "Can you track it?"

Juice grinned. "A chick, then. Yeah, you know I can. No sweat. How much you want?" He looked up at Hap, surprise and curiosity plain on his face. "Or is this somebody I should start a file on?" The club kept detailed records for anyone a member was involved with.

"Nah, no file. I just want her address. Last name. Maybe her ride. Basic stuff."

"One stalker supreme coming right up. Take me a couple of minutes."

"Thanks, brother."

Just then, Clay walked out of the chapel and gestured to Happy, "Need to talk to you, Hap. Tig, too. He still around?"

"Saw him in the bays on my way in. We'll right there, boss." Happy turned and headed out to the garage.

When the three of them were seated at the table, Clay said, "I need you to head out to Indian Hills today. They caught themselves a Lobo, but got nobody to deal with him. Romeo is looking to us to handle this, see what kind of intel this guy's got and if we've got the stones to extract it."

The Galindo drug cartel was looking to them to interrogate a prisoner from a rival Mexican cartel. Hap and Tig looked at each other. They made a formidable interrogation team. They both smiled. On the road again. Would make a very twisted buddy movie.

Tig looked at Clay. "We gonna have time to hang around after the job? Please say yes." The main source of income for the Indian Hills charter was their brothel, and Jury, the charter president, kept a top-rate stable.

Clay looked over his glasses at his Sergeant at Arms. "Worry about the job first. This guy is actual Lobo, not some pussy Calaveras contractor. I guarantee he's been trained to stand up under pressure. You two are gonna have to get very dirty to get this guy spillin'."

Tig was persistent. "But after that?"

Rolling his eyes, Clay said, "Yeah, yeah. After that, take a day. Eat your fill at Jury's pussy buffet. You get the intel, I'll have Jury bill Romeo for your . . . expenses."

"Aw, yeah!" Tig rubbed his hands with glee.

Hap had another question. "End result?"

"Once he's told you everything he knows, he's yours."

Hap nodded. Good. The idea of a challenging job like this made his skin tingle. Maybe _that _would get his head back on straight. He looked at Tig. "I need to run by the rental, pick up some shit. Meet you back here in an hour?"

Tig nodded energetically. "Yeah, man. Let's do it!"

On the way out, Juice called him over and handed him two sheets of paper. "Here's her 411. Vivian Green, age 34. Has an apartment in Berkeley, above an Indian restaurant on Telegraph. Lives alone. Drives a black '07 Corolla, paid off. Also a brown '85 Econoline, which is probably the band bus. Tag numbers, address, phone number, all there. I also checked out her band's website. They're touring right now, so I printed off a list of dates. I didn't go any deeper." Juice smirked. "She's smokin' hot, Hap. Let me know if you want me to start her a file."

Hap put his hand on the top of Juice's head and gave it a shake. "Down, boy. This is plenty. Thanks."

He checked over the list of tour dates and smiled. Leather was playing in Carson City two nights from now. Carson City was barely a hop from Indian Hills.

* * *

Happy was glad for the job, glad for the chance to bloody a bona fide enemy and to show the cartel what Sons were made of, glad to be teaming with Tig to do it. The ride to Indian Hills was long enough that he had some time to think, but he was fucking tired of thinking. What he needed was to _stop_ thinking, to get the fuck out of his own head. From now on, he decided, he'd just kick whatever weird shit his brain served up right to the curb. His will was a force to be reckoned with. Everybody knew that. So why was he pussing out and letting guilt or regret or, Christ, whatever fucking thing was rattling around his head run his show? The dreams were just dreams. No mystery where they came from, and nothing he could do to change what happened. Shut. That. Shit. Down. Move on.

With that decided, Hap gunned the engine and blew past Tig. Tig took up the gauntlet, and they raced balls to the wall down the freeway into Nevada.

* * *

When they got to the Indian Hills clubhouse, Tig got distracted and wandered off like a wayward toddler. Hap had to grab him by the collar as he beelined toward a group of busty blondes sitting on a velvet sofa. "Tiggy! Control, brother. Gotta eat your dinner before you can have dessert."

Jury briefed them. Tig and Hap exchanged a heavy look. The situation was more complicated than Clay had described. The Lobo had been traveling through Nevada with his family—wife and two small kids, a preschool boy and a girl still on the teat. Jury and his crew had them all. Hap didn't know whether Clay had withheld that information or whether he just hadn't known. Didn't matter. The job was the job. And the family was a special kind of leverage.

Jury led them first into one back room, where the Lobo was hogtied and gagged on the floor. Then he directed them to another room, where wife and kids were being kept, unbound and relatively comfortable, but under guard. Wife was good and scared, but she was keeping it together for the kids, who were too young to understand.

They backed out of the room, and the three of them went into Jury's office to talk. Hap asked, "He speak English?"

Jury shrugged. "Don't know. He hasn't said a word since we grabbed 'em. Wouldn't even talk to his old lady—she's Spanish only, far as we know."

"If he's Lobo and he's stateside, he speaks English," Tig asserted.

"One of our guys speaks Spanish, so we got it covered if we need it," Jury assured them.

Hap and Tig sat down and planned their approach.

* * *

The next day, Hap and Tig went outside for a smoke and a beer. Hap pulled off this pair of dishwashing gloves, heavy and slick with blood, and threw them in the trash on his way by. He preferred dishwashing gloves because the rubber was tougher than bullshit latex gloves and could withstand some heavy use, but thinner than industrial gloves, so he could feel what the hell he was doing. Finding dishwashing gloves to fit his paws took some effort; he bought them by the gross from a restaurant supply company. They came in an assortment of colors. The bunch he'd brought with him were blue.

The guy was superbly trained. They'd been at him round the clock for almost twenty-four hours, putting Indian Hills guys on sleep deprivation detail for a couple of hours so Hap and Tig would _not_ be sleep deprived. They'd barely made him moan, and they were exhausted.

Hap was the finesse guy in this team; Tig was all psychotic bluster. Tig was more effective when fear was more effective. Hap's skill set was best engaged to inflict pain over long periods of time. This guy wasn't going to scare, so Hap had taken the lead. But they were running out of things they could do to the Lobo without killing him. They'd tried hot, cold, sharp, blunt, and loud. They'd waterboarded him. Hap had worked all the stress and pressure points. They'd severed his Achilles tendons and hamstrung him. His fingernails were gone. His feet were crushed. They'd taken an eye. Tig had hammered nails under his kneecaps. They'd had to stop twice and call in the Indian Hills medic to keep the fucker from expiring. And nothing. Not one word. Barely a moan.

Hap was impressed as fuck.

Their Indian Hills brothers, most of whom who were still pretty new to the outlaw life, were eying them with a kind of repulsed respect.

They sat on a low rock wall rimming the lot outside the clubhouse. Hap looked out over the scrabbly desert landscape. Tig took a long pull from his beer and then a long drag on his smoke. "You know where we have to go now, Hap."

Hap did. He elbowed the conflict he felt about it out of his head. "Yeah."

"Old lady? Or kid?"

Hap was tired and wanted this over. Hardest job he'd ever done. "Go for the worst loss. Kid." He'd never had, nor wanted, either woman or child, but somehow he knew. Child was the worst loss.

Tig nodded. "Boy or girl?"

The one old enough to know fear, who'd show his father how scared he was and how much it hurt. The one who'd expect his daddy to save him. "Son."

"Yeah. Fuck."

They drank down their beers and finished off their smokes and went back to work.

The mother went wild when they went in to take her son. Tig put the muzzle of his Beretta in the baby's face and backed mama into a chair. They took the boy, mother and son both crying and screaming, and brought him into the room with his father.

They'd found their leverage. They got the Lobo to talk, in perfect English. After they called Clay, they disposed of the body, patched up the boy, and sent widow and kids out to fend for themselves alone, knowing full well what that meant, once Lobo heard what they'd found out.

It was no longer true that Happy would never hurt an innocent.

* * *

That night, Tig dived head first into a pool of pussy, and it would probably be a day or more before he came up for air. He'd wear several girls out; it was how he came down from a job, and a job like this one was going to take a lot of coming down. Hap thought about it, too, but everybody in the clubhouse knew what had been going on, what he and Tig had done, and all the girls were looking at them with anxiety. He was wrung out, and the thought of fucking any of these girls with the scared-bunny eyes just tired him out more. Tig didn't at all mind his girls scared, but it wasn't Hap's style. Healthy respect, sure. Intimidation, fine. But not fear.

Instead, he went out and got his smiley face, feeling some kind of grateful that he wasn't getting two. Or more. Then he came back to the clubhouse and drank himself unconscious.

He didn't dream of fire for once. But he dreamt of screams. A child's screams.

* * *

He woke after noon, beset by a fierce hangover, his head full of broken glass and jagged thoughts. He chewed some aspirin, took a long, hot shower and went out for a long, fast ride, not coming back until he was right in his head, until the pain was gone and he'd remembered that he'd done his job. It was the job. He'd done what he'd had to do, and it was the Lobo who'd chosen to let his boy get hurt. The intel they'd gotten could save Sons' lives. He needed to kick this shitty guilt out, or he was going to lose his fucking mind. Not to mention his job.

Tig came out for food and drink in the early evening, and then he grabbed up three fresh whores and headed right back. Fine with Hap. He'd killed his hangover, he'd shut down his contrary, broody thoughts, and he was headed to Carson City tonight to see Vivian.

She'd gotten under his skin somehow, and he'd been thinking about her a lot, especially since the night he'd seen her in Tacoma, a few weeks back. He'd discovered that a calmness came over him thinking about her. Calm was hard for Hap to find these days, so he'd indulged himself, knowing that once he fucked her, she'd pack up and clear out of his head. But in the meantime, he'd spent several weeks thinking about her wild mane of black hair, her soft, full lips, her spectacular rack, her voice. He'd jacked off to that image repeatedly.

She had a presence he found . . . compelling. She wasn't intimidated by him, but she wasn't offering herself up to him, either. Usually chicks reacted to him in one way or the other—or both. She made him feel like she was onto him. But he wasn't fronting, so that didn't make sense. What you saw was what you got with him.

Anyway, she'd been making him work for it, and he found that interesting. He felt a little territorial and protective of her, too—another interesting development. He'd beaten the tweaker into a pulpy mass, way more than necessary to neutralize him, but the red haze had come on him when the asshole had slammed a fucking electric guitar into her head. Lorca and Donut had had to pull him off before he killed the fucker. Not his style to get lathered over a woman he hardly knew, but he was doing a lot of stuff that wasn't his style lately.

He was sure that getting her naked and on her knees would take care of the mystery, though, and that was the plan tonight. Assuming the tweaker wasn't around. If she hadn't dumped that moron, Hap was washing his hands.

* * *

He arrived early in their first set and sat at the bar. He was glad to see no sign of the tweaker. Instead, there was a big black guy playing lead guitar. Good. He didn't much like how Vivian was pushing up on him while she sang, but he set the territorial thing away. He just wanted her for the night. What she did before or after that was her own business.

She didn't see him right away, so he got comfortable and watched her. She was wearing black leather pants and high-heeled black boots. Some kind of silky white top with long, loose sleeves, snug under her breasts and flowing out to her hips, showing lots of cleavage. She clearly knew she had great tits. That dark stone between them, sending out colored sparks. She was worth taking some time and getting a good look.

They were playing a more traditional blues set than they had in Tacoma, and she was belting out "Rock Me Baby." Her rich, throaty voice and the sexy lyrics came together for a helluva kick. Juice was right—she was smokin' hot. Hap could feel himself getting hard, binding up in his jeans, and he shifted uncomfortably.

The set ended, and she still hadn't seen him. He waited to see if she'd come up to the bar, like she had the other times he'd seen her. When it looked like she was headed that way, he got the barkeep's attention and sent her a top shelf rye.

It was already waiting for her when she leaned on the bar. The keep pointed at him, and she looked over. When she recognized him, she cocked her head for a second, then smiled and headed his way. The seat next to him was already empty, and she sat down.

"You following me around the country, baby? Is this like a Deadhead thing, or are you just a stalker?" She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and he caught a glimpse of ink behind her left ear. She didn't seem to have much—a bracelet of leafy vines wrapped around her right wrist and this little bit behind her ear.

He smiled. "Just good timing. Business trip."

She smirked and sipped her drink. "I bet."

He reached out and slid his hand under her hair. It was heavy, and damp with sweat. He lifted her mane up on his arm and took a look at the ink behind her ear. "Is that some kind of music thing?"

"It's a treble clef and a bass cleft combined into a heart. My first tat. Silly, but it has nostalgic value."

He put his hand on the back of her neck and rubbed his thumb over the ink. She closed her eyes and tipped her head down, giving him more access. "How's your head?"

She turned into his hand. "Hard as ever. Thanks for your help with all that, baby. We ended up keeping the gig, thanks to you and your buddies."

He nodded. "Glad to see the meth head gone."

Now she pulled away and sat up straight, and he dropped his hand. "Yeah. It was time. But that was hard. We started this thing together, Benj and me. Ten years ago. He took it bad."

"He hit you in the head with a guitar."

She gave him a sharp, aggravated look. "Yeah, and now he's out. Let's move this conversation along, baby."

He almost apologized, which was weird. Instead, he asked, "You got plans later?"

She just stared at him for a minute, like she was trying to figure something out. "You just get right to the point don't you? I hope you're not like that in the sack, baby, because I need some _attention_." She slid off the barstool. She grabbed his chin and leaned against him, kissing him hard, her tongue in his mouth. She'd managed to catch him off guard. Then she stepped back, just as he was overcoming his surprise and taking over the kiss. "Hang around, baby." She tossed back the rest of her rye and headed off.

* * *

He had her send the boys and the equipment off in the van without her; she could ride bitch with him. Now he had her up against the outside wall of the bar, one leg between hers, pressing against her crotch. His hands were on her breasts and his tongue was in her mouth. She was delectable.

"Where you stayin?" he asked, trying not to sound breathless.

She was panting and not trying to hide it, but she said, "The Lucky Lady Motel, off of 50, but we're not going to my room, baby. Where are you?"

That was a wrench. He slid his hand under her blouse and caressed the bare skin over her ribs. "I'm stayin' at the clubhouse. We can't go there. Gotta be your room."

She pushed him off. _What the hell?_ "Then this is gonna be a very short night. I don't let men in my room. Period."

He was granite-hard and almost uncontrollably horny, and he was starting to feel a little pissed. "Come on, woman. I don't want to fuck you against this wall."

She laughed. "You won't be fuckin' me against this wall, baby. Or in my room. Have yourself another idea, or I'll just call a cab."

Fuck. He should let her call her fucking cab. Plenty of far less demanding pussy back at the clubhouse. But damn. She was so hot and soft, and she smelled so very good. "I'll get a room. Let's just go. Fuck."

Riding with her arms around him did not calm him down any. He got to the Lucky Lady, got a room, and got her into it as fast as he could. As soon as the door latched behind them, he was on her, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up against his body. He leaned back against the door and kissed her, relishing the feel of her hands on his head, her tongue in his mouth, her fantastic tits on his chest.

He set her back on her feet then and put his hands on her shoulders. He pulled back from their kiss and pushed down. He wanted to be in her mouth first of all. The thought of it was making him a little nuts.

But she shrugged his hands off her shoulders, and she leaned back in, trying to pull him down for another kiss. He put his hands back and pushed down again, with more resolve. She got very still, then she grabbed his wrists in her hands and forced them off her shoulders. He refocused and really looked at her. Her eyes were dark but flinty. She was still holding his wrists, and her grip was strong. All that guitar playing, he guessed.

"No man forces me to my knees, baby. Try it again, and I'm out."

See? This is why he stuck to sweetbutts and Crow Eaters. They knew their place. And he had no idea what to even _do_ with a woman making demands on him like this. Seriously. He had no idea.

They stood there and stared at each other while he tried to decide whether he was angry, and this was too much fucking work, or he was intrigued, and he wanted to play this out. No, that wasn't it. What he was really trying to figure out was why he _wasn't_ angry. But then it didn't matter. He wasn't. He wanted her. Having her stand up to him had only made him hotter for her. He yanked his arms free of her hands, grabbed her, and spun them around, putting her against the door.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, until she relaxed again and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then he pulled away and went to _his_ knees. Another fucking first, friends and countrymen. Happy Lowman on his knees at a woman's feet. Tig would shit a brick.

He'd gone down on women plenty, of course. But never from his knees. He felt awkward at first; the balance of power was way off like this, as far as he was concerned. But he was eye-level with her crotch, he could smell her arousal mixed in with the scent of her leather pants, and he stopped thinking about who had the power. He lifted the silky hem of her blouse . . . and didn't find a fly on her pants. He looked up, confused. Christ. He didn't even know how to undress her.

She was smiling down at him, her dark eyes sparkling. "It's on the side, baby. Here." She pulled down a zipper along her left hip. He slid his hands under the now-loose waistband and pushed—peeled, more like—the leather down over her hips and ass, bringing her thong down at the same time. He felt a patch of less-smooth skin—a scar—under his right hand as he went, piquing his curiosity. He'd satisfy that later, though. Right now, his focus was on her newly exposed crotch.

She was mostly shaved, except for a landing strip of neat black curls right down the center. Holding up the hem of her shirt, he leaned in to kiss her, and a flash of color in his periphery caught his eye. He looked to his right and saw part of a large tattoo on her thigh and over her hip. Looked like part of a snake. Oh, now, that was interesting. Distracting, even. He reached for the top of her pants, to pull them down farther and get a closer look, but she flexed her hips toward him and her mound touched his face. The tattoo could wait. He pressed his mouth to her clit. She whispered, "Fuck, yeah," and bent her knees and tilted her hips so he could really get to her.

She tasted as good as she smelled. He let her blouse drape on his face and grabbed her hips in his hands, his fingers digging into the firm flesh of her ass, again feeling scar tissue. He tasted his fill of her, sucking and licking and probing until she was writhing and moaning, her hands clutching his head, pushing him closer. When she came, she cried out, "God, baby, yes! Yes, oh, yes!" and flooded his tongue. She was like nectar. He thought he might blow his wad right there, on his knees before her. Fucking Christ.

He stood up and kissed her, pushing his tongue, coated with her juices, into her mouth. She kissed him back, moaning, matching his intensity. He wrapped her in his arms and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. He had to get naked with her, like yesterday.

Vivian sat up to take off her boots, but he pushed her back down. She gave him a look like a warning and sat back up. This woman did not tolerate being pushed around, clearly. But Hap was very much used to telling women what to do, _especially_ in bed. He thought for a second, then said, "I want to take your clothes off. Will you let me?"

She looked at him, a smile growing. "All you had to do was ask, baby." She lay back down and stretched languidly. The sight made Hap shiver. He unzipped her boots and pulled them off, seeing a floral tat over the top of her right foot. Then he grabbed the waistband of her pants where it rested along her thighs and pulled them off, too. Her blouse was gathered up a little around her ribs, and he had a decent view of more of her ink. She didn't have a snake tat. She had a _snakes_ tat. They coiled around her left thigh and over her hip, stomach, ribs, and side. Nice. He couldn't see their origin point yet; that was on her back, obviously. It was excellent work.

She saw him examining the ink and sat up, pulling her shirt over her head and taking her bra off.

"I told you I wanted to do that," he growled.

But she just smiled and lay back down, spreading her legs. Her body was fantastic, just the right balance of soft and firm, curvy and strong, without sharp angles. Her breasts were full but pert—and all real—her nipples dark and succulent. He wanted them in his hands, his mouth. Fuck, his cock ached, he was so hard.

Happy stripped quickly, toeing off his boots and yanking his jeans down and his kutte and t-shirt off. He watched her eyes grow big—in admiration rather than fear—as she took in his body, his torso and arms heavily inked, his cock standing at full, impatient, attention. He couldn't remember being this eager and hot for a piece of ass before. Not since he was a kid.

He lay along her side, transverse on the bed. He leaned over and kissed her, and she plunged her tongue into his mouth, her hips flexing hard against his thigh. He pulled away and bent his head to her breast, taking a firm nipple into his mouth and suckling her like a baby. Moaning, she clutched his head to her and arched backwards. "God, that's good, baby. So good. Suck me, yeah. Oh, yeah."

She was a sex-talker. He didn't usually like chatter while he was fucking, but in her sultry voice it was hot. Seemed like she was upending a lot of his "usuals."

He wanted inside. He'd play with her later. He pulled away and stood back up, grabbing his jeans and fishing in a pocket for a condom. She lay and watched him, her arms stretched over her head, her legs bent, feet flat on the bed, her hips flexing gently. Her thick, wildly wavy hair was spread out around her head. Shit, she looked like a centerfold.

He got the condom on and kneeled on the bed, immediately grabbing her legs and putting them on his shoulders. Then he pulled her hips sharply toward him and buried himself as deeply as he could into her hot, wet, inviting core. He groaned as he sank in, and she cried out.

Fuck, she felt good. She was tight and hot around him, and she'd taken his full size without hesitation. She was driving her hips hard against his, even with her legs on his chest, matching him thrust for thrust. Her arms were over her head, her hands clutching the side of the mattress.

He wrapped his arms around her legs and pounded her until she was shaking her head wildly back and forth and crying, "Fuck me, baby. Oh, Lord, it's so good! Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" She arched her neck back, the muscles in her throat straining prominently. At the peak of her throes, he let himself go with a loud, ragged groan.

He stayed hard, so he kept moving. She came down from one orgasm only to start heading back up on another, and she looked at him in impressed surprise. She grinned, "Oh baby, look at you!" He pushed in extra deep at that and she gasped and moaned. She pulled her legs free from his grip and wrapped them around his waist as he thrust into her. She grabbed his ass in both hands, pressing him ever deeper.

"Let's roll over, baby. I want to ride you."

He wrapped his arms around her back and rolled, putting her on top, not even fully registering that he'd just taken direction from a woman. She sat upright, her hands on his thighs behind her, and started in with gusto, bouncing and grinding on him, her head tossed back, her tits moving beautifully, the black opal pendant dancing between them. He reached up and took one round globe in each hand, twisting her nipples. She gasped and looked down at him. He twisted again, and she started to move even faster and harder, gasping, "Yeah, baby. Like that. Oh, like that. Oh, yeah."

He was ready to go again—fast for a second time. He wasn't ready to be done, though, so he overcame his own urge and grabbed her hips, driving up into her as she ground down on him until she came again, crying "Yes!" over and over. He yelled, too, when he came right after her.

That shit had been wicked intense.

She lifted off him and lay down on her side next to him, panting and wet with sweat. He pulled the condom off his finally softening cock and lifted his head to look around for a waste can. He eyed it and tossed, making the basket. Then he rolled to face her. Her eyes were closed, and a small contented smile danced on her lips. He propped himself on his elbow and looked more closely at her ink, pulling her hip toward him so he could better see her back.

What she had was a Medusa. Instead of a monster, though, this Medusa was a beautiful woman with an open smile, her face covering the back of Vivian's left hip, the reptilian mane wending out from a thickly detailed nest, snakes slithering around her hip to her thigh, her waist, her ribs, and over her back. It was a powerful piece, and he recognized the artist. "This is beautiful, Vivian. Toad Nelson did this, right? In Sac?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

"I'm a tattooer. It's like any other art. We all have our own style. This face is Toad's work. It would be obvious to any tattooer who knows him."

The skin under Medusa's face and the nest of snakes was scarred, about 10 inches of her hip, ass, and lower back. Toad had used the contours of the scar to enhance the depth of the image. It really was genius work. Even under the ink and artistry, though, looking close Hap could tell it was a scar from a third-degree burn. He traced his fingers over the uneven flesh. "What happened here?"

She sat up abruptly and kissed him, then stood and started picking up her clothes. _What the fuck?_

"What're you doin'? Come back here."

She smiled as she shimmied into her leather pants. "I gotta go, baby. But I had a fantastic time. You are a truly epic fuck."

He'd never been left before. He sat there in stunned silence for a minute or two until he realized that she'd gotten completely dressed and was pulling on her boots. She was leaving. But he wasn't done with her, not by a long shot.

He stood, still naked, and grabbed her arm. "I want you to stay."

She put her hand on his chest, tracing the lines at the edge of his ink. "I don't stay, baby. I like my own space. But I wouldn't mind hooking up with you again sometime." She leaned up and kissed his cheek, then she pushed away from him and grabbed her bag.

He got between her and the door. "Stay."

The humor left her face and her voice. "I'm not your lapdog. Step aside."

Bitches did not fucking walk away from him. _He_ walked away. Or he sent them away. He could not believe she was leaving after they just had that bout of scorching sex. He could not believe he was standing here fucking naked and begging her to stay with him. But he did _not_ want her to go. The thought of her leaving made him feel off, somehow—jumpy. He glared at her for a long moment, feeling the red haze coming up on him. She glared right back. She was going to get hurt unless she got out of here. He moved out of her way and let her go.

Then he tore the shit out of the motel room. When that didn't calm him down, he jumped on his Dyna and rode, fast as the bike could handle, until he was too exhausted to feel anything.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **So . . . some of Viv's original lyrics are included in this chapter, and might appear occasionally throughout the story. I wrote them, but I'm by no means a blues lyricist, so I ask your forbearance. If you could just pretend that the lyrics are really good, since they only work in the narrative if they are, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks! :)

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The rest is mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 6:  
**"Turtle Blues," Janis Joplin

Vivian opened her eyes in bright sunlight and, as she always did, took a second to remember where she was. She smiled and stretched luxuriously when she remembered that she was in her very own bed. Her own beautiful brass bed, between her own beautiful white pima cotton sheets, under her own beautiful white goose down comforter, her head cushioned by her own beautiful goose down pillows. And she was decadently, gloriously naked. Praise the sweet baby Jesus. She rolled over and snuggled in.

Five straight months on the damn road. All up and down California. Washington, Oregon, Nevada, Arizona. Even Vancouver. Trapped in an ancient fucking Econoline with three men. Yeah, touring was the way they made their nut, and they were lucky to get the gigs, but if she never smelled that kind of concentrated man funk again it would be too soon. The leaching aroma of curry from the Patels' restaurant downstairs was an improvement by several orders of magnitude.

She'd be back in the van with those aromatic assholes soon enough. They had a five-month break, during which they'd play more or less locally, never ranging more than a couple of hours from home. They were also going to record an EP of original music and try to get something bigger to happen. Then, right after New Year's, they'd be packed up together for another tour—that one shorter, though, and limited to the Northwest, San Francisco to Tacoma. Then they'd do it all again. Life on the road.

She sat up and looked around contentedly. Hers was a corner building, with a turret-shaped bump-out. The room with that bump-out in her apartment was her bedroom, and she had her bed centered in it, so she was surrounded by windows, all of them open, their long, lacy white curtains dancing in the bay breeze. Telegraph Avenue was jiving along below her at its usual freaky, syncopated pace. Yeah, this was home. She was happy here.

She could afford this big apartment in this primo location so close to the Cal campus because it was rent controlled and had passed to her when her granny died. A regionally famous torch singer in the 40s and 50s with the stage name Belle Chose, Granny Belle had married her bandleader, Steve Green (a Greek immigrant, born Stavros Grivas), and they'd lived in this apartment their whole married lives, raising two boys. Viv had moved in with her grandparents to attend Cal, and she'd stayed after she'd dropped out, she and her parents having come to the end of their road when she graduated high school and got the fuck away from them.

She'd helped her grandparents as they'd aged, and she helped Granny even more after Pops died. When Granny died, she'd eventually made the apartment hers, taking over the turret bedroom and asserting her personality into the décor. She'd kept a lot of the old furniture and curios, mainly the stuff from the 40s—because that stuff was _awesome_. Like Granny and Pops.

Her parents? Not awesome. Dad—Granny and Pops' eldest—was mean; Mom was traitorously weak. They'd had no contact in the four years since Granny passed. Last year she'd learned that her father had died, when an old family friend sent her a condolence card. She'd missed the funeral by then, but she wouldn't have gone anyway. No loss. She had no idea what killed him, but she harbored a secret, guilty hope that he'd died hard. Cancer of the heart or something. Or in a fire. Yeah. In a fire.

Viv tossed the comforter back and got out of bed, stretching again as she walked naked to the bathroom and turned on the water to fill her claw-footed tub. She squirted in some lavender-and-honey-scented bubble bath. A bath. With bubbles. Lord, she loved getting off the road.

While it filled, she walked through the apartment, reveling in the breeze on her bare skin coming in from the open windows. Sure, she was walking around naked, blocked from the view of the third-story windows across the street only by wafting lace curtains, but this was Berkeley, man. There were probably naked people walking around on the sidewalk downstairs. Nothing to see here.

She went into the tiny kitchen and started a pot of coffee. No food in the house, unless she wanted Spaghetti-Os, which she did not. She'd have to hit the shops downstairs today and restock the kitchen. Then she'd sit down and write for the rest of the day. Hallelujah.

She bound her hair up on top of her head and eased into the steaming tub, submerging to her neck. For a long time, she just relaxed in the water, floating a bit, her head back and her eyes closed. Baths were an especially sensual experience, in Viv's estimation, and she moved her hands all over her body, loving the way the oils in the bubble bath made her skin just slightly slick. She eased her fingers over her breasts, making circles around her nipples. The feeling made her eyes roll back behind her lids.

It also brought to mind the intensely hot touch of a certain mercurial, heavily-tattooed biker, and she put her hand between her legs, sliding over her clit and into her core as she thought about the way he'd touched her, the feel of his cock filling her to the brim. Good Lord, sex with him had been astounding. But there had been an edge, too, of something not quite in sync. She'd gotten the impression that she was pissing him off as much as she was turning him on. And when she'd left, she was truly starting to get worried that he might hurt her. Something in his eyes had gotten hard and bright, and she'd felt a frisson of fear.

She'd known he was bad news, and she'd gotten a glimpse of that. It should be enough to warn her off. But he'd also been passionate and tender, gentle and a little sweet, even, when he checked out Medusa. And Lord, he was a sight to behold. Totally ripped and totally inked from waist to neck. And that big cock. Very nice indeed.

She kept thinking about the text across the top of his chest, edging the ink on his torso: _I Live I Die I Kill For My Family_. It was a powerful statement, and she believed it entirely. She only had to look at him to know all three statements were totally true. She supposed that kind of intensity should warn her off. But it spoke of fierce loyalty and love, and she was moved by that kind of devotion.

It was perverse, she knew it was, but there was even something about his anger at her leaving that caught her attention. There was passion in it. It was more than him not getting his way, when he was so clearly used to getting his way. She hadn't parsed it out yet, but she was sure there was a lot more to him than a bossy, badass biker. She was intrigued.

She would very likely regret it, she damn well knew better, but she wanted to see him again, be with him again. She moved her hand faster and harder on her clit, making firm, quick circles as the pressure built, until it released in a rush, her body curling into itself as she came. Then she relaxed back against the tub and floated in a blissful haze until the water cooled, visions of snake tattoos dancing in her head.

* * *

"I think we need it, Viv. It's easily in your top ten best songs."

"Sean, baby, that means we have nine other great songs to choose from. It's an EP, so that's plenty. You know how I feel. It's not for public consumption. I shouldn't even have let you guys hear it. _Obviously_."

The band was sitting around her living room discussing—that is, arguing over—what tracks to record for their EP. Sean had—_again_, because he was either persistent or stupid, or both—suggested that Viv's song "Born in Fire" be the lead track. The title track, in fact. She'd played it for them _one fucking time_, during a loose jam session a couple of years ago. She'd been coasting on some fine weed at the time; otherwise she'd have been smart enough to keep it to herself. It was way too personal.

Sean wouldn't let it drop. "Okay, then, it's your _best_ song." He turned to the rest of the band. "Dex, Oscar, help me out here. You know I'm right. You remember, Dex." Dex nodded. Viv noted he had the class to at least look guilty about taking Sean's side, even silently.

Oscar cut in. "You know, fellas, I'm new around here. I've never even heard the song. I got no vote until I hear it." He looked at Viv. Oscar was a great—really great—guitarist and an all around good guy. Straight and clean as a whistle, too. Not to mention a fine specimen. But he was looking at her now with an expectation that she'd play for him, and so he wasn't tops on her list just at this moment.

"Then Oscar's a no, because I'm not giving you two the satisfaction. It's off the list. Move on, babies, move on."

"Viv, c'mon. At least play it for Oscar. Don't you want this EP to be our best stuff? I mean, what are we playin' at here?"

Viv stood up in a huff. "Fuck you, baby." She stormed off to the kitchen and yanked another bottle of wine out of the rack on the wall.

Dex came in while she was popping the cork. He leaned on the fridge. "Talk to me for a minute?"

Dex had been in the band from the start, when they were just a lousy trio knocking around at birthday parties and weddings. He was her best friend, easy. So she tucked her anger back and turned to him. "You know why, Dex. You know why."

"I do, Viv. But nothing in the song says any of that. And think about this. We're still talking about it years after we heard it. Sean doesn't know shit about what it's about, and he's obsessed with it. Think what that might mean if it gets play."

She hurled the corkscrew to the counter, and it slid and clattered against the backsplash. She knew the song was good, and she _had_ thought about what it might mean if they recorded it. "Here's one thing it means. Say you're right. Say we record it. Say it hits. I could end up having to sing that fucker for people every damn night for the rest of my damn life."

He brushed a lock of hair back out of her face. "Maybe that would take some of its power away."

She laughed bitterly. "Convenient argument." She sighed. "Fine. I'll play it tonight. That does _not_ mean I'm agreeing to record it. And if I end up getting outvoted and it turns into some kind of hit, then you, baby, are paying for my therapy. And my weed. In perpetuity." She grabbed the bottle of cabernet sauvignon by the neck and sauntered back to the living room.

She set her Martin on her lap and took her sweet time getting it tuned up. The three men around her sat quietly and watched her. Finally, her delay was becoming ridiculous even to her, and she started in.

_Some folks say they've been born again,  
Born to mama and born to God.  
Well, I was born twice, too, baby.  
Born in water and born in fire._

She indulged in some stringed pyrotechnics, using the opportunity not to meet anybody's eyes.

_Born in water left me cryin', cryin',  
Needing a mama's care.  
No will of my own, no strength to stand.  
Born in water left my soul diluted,  
Not knowin' who I am._

During the bridge, she looked up and saw that they were all three of them leaning forward. Oscar had picked up his Ovation and was fingering the frets silently. Fuck.

_Well, baby._

_Some folks say they've been born again,  
Born to mama and born to God.  
Well, I was born twice, too, baby.  
Born in water and born in fire._

She didn't even bother to look. She knew she was screwed.

_Born in fire left me burnin', burnin',  
Knowin' mama's not there.  
All alone, only strength my own.  
Born in fire turned my soul to steel  
Showed me 'xactly who I am._

_Some folks say they've been born again,  
Born to mama and born to God.  
Well, I was born twice, too, baby.  
Born in water and born in fire.  
Born in fire.  
Born in fire._

Now she looked up, flexing her fingers and resting her arms on the top of her guitar. Oscar was nodding. "It's fantastic, Viv. I want to play it. That could be the one that makes us. Even if it's not, I want to play it."

Dex sat back. "Vote? All in favor of recording 'Born in Fire' for our EP?" Three male hands went up.

Fucking democratic band decisions. Whose fucking idea was that?

Oh. Hers.

* * *

Oscar was the last one to leave that night, hanging around to help her clean up after Dex took a very wasted Sean home. He came into the kitchen as she was finishing up the dishes. "Guess I should head out."

She turned and leaned on the counter, drying her hands on a tea towel. "Yeah. Thanks for sticking around to clean up, baby. Big help."

He walked right up to her and put his hands on the counter on either side of her hips. "I could stay, if you want. I'd like to." He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.

They'd hit the jackpot with this new band member. He was talented, he was reliable, he was smart and fun, he didn't have a huge ego, and he was lovely to look at—skin the color of hot cocoa, clear green eyes. Had a Lenny Kravitz thing kinda going on. The kiss was nice, too. Viv was tempted, and she kissed him back for a few seconds. But she pushed him away.

"You should head out, baby. I've learned my lesson about mixing music and sex. We have a good thing going, a good group, and I don't want to fuck it up. No denying we have chemistry. I love flirting with you, and it works great on stage, but we need to stop it there, you and me."

"You sure?" He brushed his nose against hers, and she pushed him back farther.

"I'm sure. Show yourself out, baby. I'll see you tomorrow." He looked into her eyes for another second, and then he nodded, kissed her cheek, and showed himself out.

What she hadn't said was that while he was kissing her, an image of dark, dark eyes, long dimples, and a tattooed scalp had shimmered into her head, along with the strangest little tickle of . . . guilt?

Well, that was completely fucking loco.

* * *

Viv was walking back from the BART station, her Martin strapped to her back in its gig bag, her Telecaster in its hardshell case in her hand. Dex had the van, because she'd had to meet the guys at the studio. Parking in San Francisco was crazy expensive, so she'd just taken the BART train instead.

It had been a frustrating session. They couldn't seem to get the sound right on one of the tracks. Time was a lot of fucking money, and they needed to get this done and clear out of the studio before they were all living in Civic Center Park.

Lost in her grim thoughts as she approached her building, she didn't notice Benji until she was right on him. She almost ran into him, in fact.

"Oh, sorry—Benj?"

"Hey Viv." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet, which were doing a weird little jig, like a little boy who needed a potty break.

Shit, he looked bad. Dirty, skinny, strung out. His mouth was a mess. Happy had done a real number. She felt terrible for him, but she was also code red. He was in the stratosphere. He might be broke to shit, but he was still managing to get his crank. He was really strong when he was high, and she didn't have Dex around to get between her and a faceful of Benji's fists.

"What are you doing here, Benji?" He looked up sharply, and she took a small step back.

"You don't call me back."

She spoke calmly. "No, because we talked about that. You and me, we're staying apart now. After Tacoma."

"I told you I was fucking sorry. And you were the one getting fucked right in the middle of the fucking bar."

She stomped down the urge to argue with him about what she'd been doing with Happy and what he had any right to concern himself with. "The deal is, you and I are a bad mix. We talked about it, and you agreed. No contact. Remember, baby?"

He grabbed her and slammed her against the wall of the building next door to hers. She dropped her Fender to the sidewalk, but it was protected by its hardshell case. Her beautiful Martin dreadnought, on the other hand, slung on her back and protected only by the nylon and thin padding of its gig bag, made a huge, sickening crack, and she felt it give. She would _so_ much have preferred it to have been her skull that made contact. The skull would heal. The Martin she couldn't replace. Even if she could afford another one—and she couldn't—she couldn't replace this one.

She'd gotten so close to home.

She looked around, but this was Telegraph, and it was getting late. The street vendors had all packed up. She knew the shopkeepers, but they were all tucked in their shops, unaware of what was going down on the street. There were lots of peace-loving hippie types around, and lots of college students, but plenty of weirdoes, too, and even if someone sober and conscientious enough to help would see this, it could well be a while before they realized it wasn't just another freaky Telegraph moment, a street play or something.

She could call for help. She could fight back. She would if she had to. But the last time she'd fought him, he'd broken her arm, and that was no good for a woman who made her living playing guitar. He was unpredictable, fast, and crazy strong when he was tweaking. Talking him down was the better play, if she could do it.

"Don't be mad, baby. Let me go, and we can talk, okay? We'll go get a coffee. Maybe something to eat." He looked like it had been some time since he'd had a meal with actual food.

"You been recording? You making an album without me? Is that why you won't talk to me? You feel guilty, don't you, you dirty cunt, stealing that from me?" He was right in her face, spraying spittle with every syllable, his breath almost ranker than she could stand. And this was bad. She'd hoped that he wouldn't find out about their studio work, at least not until it was done. Who'd told him?

"Benji, baby. Come on. Let's just talk."

"I'm fucking done talking with you, you filthy whore! How many ways do you think you can cheat me and I'll just take it?" Then he hit—three jabs to her eye, _bam-bam-bam, _hard and fast. The world swam around her. _Fuck_, that hurt. She felt a warm wash of blood down her cheek. Her knees gave, and the only thing holding her up was Benji's arm across her chest. Suddenly, he let go, and she sank to the sidewalk.

"Get away from her, bad man!" Viv struggled to see through the stars and her rapidly swelling eye. What she saw was little Mrs. Patel, co-owner of the restaurant on the first floor of Viv's building, tearing toward them, wearing a yellow sari and brandishing a big broom, and Mr. Patel right behind her with a baseball bat. And now the street was onto the fact that there was trouble.

A crowd chased Benji off. The Patels helped her up to her apartment, and Mrs. Patel made her an ice pack and started some tea. Not in the mood for fussing or company, she sent them off as quickly as she could. Mr. Patel wouldn't go until she promised to accept the dinner he was going to send up later. Mrs. Patel told her they'd check in after they closed, and extracted from her a promise to call if she needed anything.

Not one person had suggested anyone call the cops. Nobody had much use for cops on Telegraph.

Finally alone, she turned off the flame under the teapot and went to check the damage. She opened the gig bag first. Oh, no. Her beautiful baby. She had other guitars, but this one was her pride and joy. Had been, anyway. A gift from her grandparents. The neck was sheared off, the body caved in in back, a big crack through the center in front. A total loss. No point even calling the luthier. She cradled the remains in her arms and sobbed. It hurt her face to cry, but she didn't even care.

When she'd run out of tears, she went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Jesus Christ. Her eyebrow and cheek basically met over her eye. There was a nasty gash on her cheek, now clotted with blood. Probably needed stitches, but there wasn't any money for such luxuries as emergency medical care, so she opened her medicine chest, pulled down some hydrogen peroxide, some antibiotic ointment, and three butterfly bandages, and tended to herself as well as she could. It was probably going to scar, but there wasn't much to be done about that.

Then she poured herself a glass of cheap rye and sat in the dark living room. She thought about the band, about Benji, about her life alone. She thought about sex and romance, how great the first one was and how much the second one sucked. She thought about the stupid allure of passion.

Benj had been a really good guy. He still was, when he was straight—if he ever was these days. Their breakup had even been pretty smooth, a mutual recognition that they weren't working anymore, and the band had survived it. But then some chick he'd been banging turned him on to crystal, and everything changed.

She was so goddamn tired of drama. Relationships were just not worth the fucking heartburn. And she never, ever, ever again wanted to worry whether someone she loved was going to hurt her. She was better than that. She was _stronger_ than that. It disgusted her to think that she stood down there pleading with him while he spat in her face and fucked everything up. That's _not_ who she fucking was. Only with Benji, and only because she'd loved him, did she act like such a helpless cow.

If a guy who'd been so sweet and kind could become the pathetic monster that Benji had become, then what about a guy who started off on the edge? How bad would she let shit get if she fell for someone like that?

No badass biker for her. That scene was one and done.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **There's a big, but brief, spoiler in here for the end of my story The Rose and the Thorn, if that matters to you. This AU also includes Opie's S5 canon, which I take on more directly in my story Make Me Right. I am moving past those events as fast as I possibly can and leaving canon behind.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The rest is mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 7:  
**"Share Your Love with Me," Aretha Franklin

Happy sat at the window bar, in the pub across Telegraph from Vivian's building, and watched her. He knew he was stalking her, straight up, but he didn't care. His life, everything he'd known, everything he believed, had gone fucking haywire, and watching her lead her life was the only time he felt like there was any sense anywhere.

One thing he'd always known, known in his bones: the Sons had his back. They were his family. He would do anything—_anything_—for them. Fuck, he _had_ done anything for them. He'd done things in the name of the Sons—without question or hesitation, to protect them, to advance them, or simply because a brother had asked—that would put him in the deepest circles of Hell for eternity. And, until recently, he'd done it all without guilt or regret because whatever he'd done he'd done in the name of the Sons. He'd gladly offer up his life and his soul, and he knew his brothers felt the same way.

But that was turning out not to be true. There had always been beefs and clashes between brothers. To live this life, a man had to be forceful, and that spilled over. Hap had never concerned himself with any of it, knowing that sometimes fights for dominance were necessary. It happened in the wild all the time, and men were just another kind of animal. He rode it all out, having no personal interest in leading, knowing his role.

But he'd never seen anything like the treachery and backstabbing, the lying and dealing that was going on now. Not in Charming, not in Tacoma. Never. The intel Tig and he had pulled from the Lobo in Nevada, at huge cost, had served effectively to neutralize, at least in the short term, the entire Lobo cartel, and Hap had expected things to settle for awhile with the club.

Instead, Piney, a First 9 founding member, was dead, Clay had lost the gavel—because he'd killed Piney. Jax was at the head of the table now. And Opie and his old lady were both dead. All of it because of club infighting. Hap looked around at his unraveling family and wondered what he was even loyal to anymore.

He and Opie had never really clicked. They were brothers, and they shared that deep bond, but Hap had always felt impatience, sometimes bordering on contempt, for Ope's conflict about the life. Far as Hap was concerned, if you were in, you should be in, balls first, no second thoughts.

But lately, Hap had experienced his own kind of second thoughts. He hated them and shoved them to the side rather than wrapping up in them the way Ope had, but he understood a little better what Ope had been dealing with. Maybe it was the kind of loss Ope had faced that now Hap understood better.

He and Ope had shared one other thing, something that maybe only Tig also understood. Perfect loyalty to their brothers. Ope had died for it. But Hap was coming to understand that maybe the rest of his brothers couldn't be trusted as much as he thought.

It was an earth-shaking realization, one Hap needed to set aside. Because thinking about it too much fucked the shit out of his head. The things he'd done for this club. Things no one else would do. Things the others felt the luxury to refuse to do because Hap had taken that on for them. That fell the fuck apart if his loyalty didn't mean anything.

He'd been struggling all year to keep his head straight, and that was one too many screws loose.

So he'd been staying clear of the clubhouse unless he was specifically needed, waiting for the dust to settle. He'd ridden all the way to Berkeley almost every day for almost two weeks to sit in this window and wait to see Vivian. She came out every day at some point to shop or hang out with the street vendors and performers. Sometimes she walked down to the BART station. Sometimes the band went into her building, and sometimes they went out together to the garage and came out in the Econoline. Only once had she left in her Corolla. She'd never come into this pub, and he'd never gone out to her.

He hadn't approached her for a couple of reasons. First, he was stalking her, he knew that. He had no good reason to be in Berkeley. Going to her shows was one thing. Turning up on her block in the middle of the day was something else. But second, he didn't understand the hold she had on him. It didn't make any kind of sense, and the thought of actually being with her again set off warning bells. He wanted her too much. Too much.

He had never had anything that could be called any kind of relationship with a woman. By intention. He'd gotten into this life early, and he couldn't live it the way he had to live it and be bound to any kind of conflicted loyalties. Besides, he'd never met a woman he wasn't related to whom he considered worth a second thought. But he thought about Vivian a lot. Too much. Worse, he thought about her most when he needed an antidote to the poison in his head. He realized that he'd given her a lot of power already. Too much. As much as he wanted to touch her again, he knew he was better off staying clear. So he sat and watched.

She was different here at home. She seemed smaller, even, more delicate—just slightly, but he noticed it. She sure dressed differently, unless she was headed out with the band. This day, a chilly, overcast fall day, she was wearing a long, flowing, busily printed skirt, little flat shoes, a plain t-shirt, and a thick, fuzzy cardigan. Her amazing hair was pulled back from her face in a clip, rioting loose down her back. Every other day, she'd worn big aviator-style sunglasses, but that wasn't necessary on this cloudy day. He was used to seeing her body on stage, in high boots, tight pants and low-cut tops. She looked like a little hippie schoolteacher today—and most days here. She still wore her black opal jewelry, though.

He watched her bopping in and out of shops, her fabric shopping bags filling up as she went. She stopped to gab with most of the street vendors, and she'd dance or sing for a little while with the performers on the corners. As far as he knew, she was always self-possessed and at ease, but she was a different kind of relaxed here. He watched her dancing with an old black dude playing harmonica, holding up her shopping bags out of the way of her swaying hips, her skirt swirling, and he smiled.

Before he fully knew he was doing it, he was out of the pub and walking across the street.

She was down the street a little ways, and she'd left the harmonica player behind and was headed Hap's way when she looked up and saw him. She froze in her tracks. He was unprepared for the look of shock and fear on her face. Of all the things he'd thought she might feel if she saw him again, fear had not been among them. He'd thought of her as fearless.

But now she was looking frantically around the street, and she ducked into the nearest shop. He stopped for a second, feeling his own shock. Then he followed her into the shop.

It was a spice shop or something; the walls of the cramped space were lined with little glass bottles full of seeds and powders, and the aroma was potent but pleasant. When he walked in, the fear was gone from her face. She was standing a few feet inside, facing the entrance. She demanded, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He didn't actually know, so he didn't have anything to say. He stood there like an idiot and just looked at her. He noticed a healing cut, more than an inch long, across her left cheek. He knew the look of a cut like that, in that location, and his heart rate picked up.

"This is so not cool. You have plowed straight through cool and dead-ended in creepy, baby. What the fuck are you doing here?"

He took a step toward her. She tried to step back, but she hit a display rack behind her. He wasn't going to stand here like a dumb fool and say nothing again, but he still didn't know what to say, so he said that. "Don't know."

The shopkeeper, a young woman in dark blonde dreads and a raveling green sweater, gave Hap a hostile look and asked, "Everything okay, Viv?"

Vivian eyed him. He tried to look not creepy, but he didn't know what that would look like.

"Hi, Summer. Sorry to bring it in here."

"Don't sweat it at all. You stay here if you need to. Let me know if you need backup."

Sighing, Vivian said, "No, I think we're okay." She walked up to him. He was surprised how much shorter she was without her boots. He resisted the urge to touch her wounded cheek. If that was the tweaker asshole . . .

"Let's go get a drink, baby. In a bright, public place. And you can tell me how you're not a fucking psychopath."

He nodded and followed her back out onto Telegraph. He was just on autopilot; he didn't understand half—or even more—of the shit he did around her.

She led them to a little restaurant a couple of doors down. She put her bags in one of the chairs, and they sat and ordered beers. Then she started right in.

"So, explain yourself. And let's try for complete sentences, just for something new."

The waitress brought their beers over. He stared at his beer bottle, trying to work out how he'd ended up sitting at this table with her. He really had no idea. He wasn't good at the self-study thing. He'd given it a try and failed miserably. Things got too complicated when you thought about them too much. But things got complicated when you didn't think about them at all, too, as evidenced by his current predicament.

She was getting impatient with his silence. "Fuck, Happy. What am I supposed to do with this? I don't believe it's coincidence that you're more than an hour from home and right on my block. So what the hell?"

Christ. He had no explanation. He didn't know how to _think_ about this kind of shit, let alone talk about it. He'd never had any kind of serious conversation with a woman who wasn't his mother. He'd barely had any serious conversations at all that weren't Sons-related. All new territory. So he went with what he had. Small truths. "I think about you a lot."

She sat back in her chair. "That doesn't move the needle on the creep-o-meter, baby. You're still redlined."

"I had someone look up your address." She crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised. Still redlined. Yeah, he knew. And now he was tapped. "Fuck, Vivian. I don't talk about this shit. I don't have an answer."

Now she leaned forward, her arms on the table. "You understand why that's not good enough, right? You understand how far out of line it is for you to be skulking around my neighborhood? How threatened it makes me feel? I mean, you're not stupid, right? You get that."

"I'd never hurt you." As soon as he said it, he knew it to be indisputably true. He also knew he'd kill anyone who did. He looked at the cut on her face.

But she didn't believe it. "No? You didn't want to hurt me in Carson City? When I left?"

He'd been floored and angry, and yes, some part of him had wanted to strike out at her. But he'd let her go so that he wouldn't. He didn't know how to say that, though. Instead he said, "I don't know why I think about you. Or why I'm here. I want to see you. That's all I know."

She sighed and rested her head in her right hand. "Baby, the very last thing I need in my life is another conflicted, violent guy thinking he has a claim on me."

He knew enough to know whom else she was referring to, and he fucking hated that he was lumped up with that asshole in her head. Now he reached out and brushed his thumb softly over the hurt on her face. He could feel by the way it was healing that it had been deep. That was going to be a scar, on her beautiful face. "This from the tweaker?"

Pulling away sharply, she said, "Not your concern, baby." She leaned back in close, her eyes intent on his. "You hear me when I tell you: it's not your concern."

Fine. He'd file it away for a little while—but just for a little while. He nodded.

He'd spilled just about every gut he was capable of spilling. He felt empty and jumpy. He needed to know if it meant anything. "Can I see you?"

She was quiet for a long time, looking out the window onto the avenue. He waited, watching her think and wanting to touch her. "We don't even know each other, Happy. What we know is that I piss you off and you freak me out."

He smiled suggestively. "We know more than that."

She tried not to return his smile, and she failed. "Great sex only goes so far. It's not enough."

He leaned toward her so that their arms were touching on the table. "So we'll know more. Can't do that without seeing each other."

She sighed. "So you want to, what, _date_ me?"

Was _that_ what he wanted? Really? Shit, he supposed it was. Their hands were touching on the table; he rubbed the back of hers with his finger. "To start."

She grinned and rolled her eyes. She also turned her hand and linked her finger around his. The thrill he felt at that little movement astonished him. "You get no booty for awhile. We're gonna do this, we're gonna go slow, make sure we don't blow past any warning signs." She chuckled. "Any _other_ warning signs, anyway. You okay with that?"

He could _not_ believe this word was going to come out of his mouth, but, "Yeah." His throat was dry, and he swallowed.

She laughed outright. "Oh, you poor baby. You can go ahead and get your jollies wherever you like to get them until we know what this is. If it's anything at all. That's okay. Not asking you to give it up. If we end up being something, though, we'll have to have a conversation." She regarded him closely for a minute. "Happy, do you know how to date? Have you ever even been on a date? Do you know how to do any of this?"

No, he didn't. No, he hadn't. He knew nothing. He'd never had to convince a woman he was worth her time. He'd never given a shit what they thought of him as a person. From the time he'd wanted them, women had always just been there for him, ready and willing, and when he was done with them, they were gone. Shit, the only reason he'd ever cared whether they came, the only reason he'd bothered to get good at it was because _he_ liked a lively fuck.

He sure as fuck wasn't going to say any of that to Vivian, though, so he just looked at her. She laughed again. Her mood had done a 180 since they'd sat down here. "Okay, baby. Lesson one. Walk me to my building and kiss me goodbye at the front door."

He carried her bags for her, too.

When they got to her building, he handed her the bags. Then he put his hands around her waist and leaned down to claim her mouth. He took his time, sliding his tongue between her lips and leisurely exploring her. He brought one hand up her back and buried it in her hair, pressing her head closer to his. She moaned softly, and her tongue moved against his, compelling him to kiss her even more deeply. He wanted this kiss to make her remember what they would be missing with this whole no-sex thing.

When he pulled away, she was flushed and panting, her eyes heavy-lidded. He leaned back down and gently kissed the mark on her cheek.

"I'll see you soon, Vivian. I'll call." He turned and walked down the street. His bike was parked down the block and around the corner.

He sure as hell remembered what they would be missing.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **More original song lyrics we're pretending are good. ;)

And thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows. They make my day, they motivate me to keep writing, and they mean so much!

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 8:**

"Come to Me," Bonnie Raitt

Viv stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, undecided. She'd tossed around the idea of dressing up, but then she'd decided she was making too much of the night. Now she was wearing a typical, casual-night-out-with-friends outfit: low-rise jeans, wide belt, a black, long-sleeved crossover tee that showed some cleavage and just a little bit of belly. She was barefoot, and now she was worried that she was _too_ casual.

She wasn't sure why it mattered. She was hosting a party for the band and about thirty or so of their friends and fellow musicians on the local scene to celebrate the digital release of their EP—which, yes, was titled "Born in Fire." They had no label or contract, so this wasn't a huge deal, just the next tiny step to maybe. Still, it was a step, and they were excited. Ergo, party. But it was the same people they hung around with all the time anyway, so what she wore didn't matter an iota.

Except Happy was coming, too. First time he'd be in her apartment.

They'd been doing the dating and taking it slow thing for some weeks now. He came to her, and the people around Telegraph were starting to recognize him as attached to her in some way. Their conflicting schedules had kept them from spending too much time together, but they'd had some meals and done some talking. He'd come to a couple of her local shows, and they'd gone to another band's show. She even got him to dance a little, to some slow songs. That had been really lovely.

She could see that he was tight with a dollar, and she'd thought it was cute to see his evident struggles with spending money on dates. She didn't suppose the women who hung around his clubhouse expected much in the way of wining and dining. But he'd been deeply offended when she suggested she could pay, too. So she just sat back and watched him pry the bills out of his wallet. She'd considered suggesting a really expensive restaurant, just to see him sweat, but she decided that would be too mean. Poor baby. Dealing with relationship shock and sticker shock all at once.

He always called her by her full name. Vivian. Nobody did that. Everybody called her Viv. She called herself Viv. She'd asked him about it, and he'd shrugged and said, "It's pretty. I like it."

He wasn't a big talker, and he wasn't much with the details, but she still felt like she had gotten to know him some. Enough to make her feel better about connecting with him. Enough to know she wanted to. She'd come to like him a lot. His sense of humor, which he used sparingly, was really sharp and a little weird—discovering that had surprised and delighted her. She enjoyed his company. He treated her well, with respect.

And pretty much everything about him turned her on.

But she hadn't been ready to let him into her home. That was a huge step for her, and she hadn't been ready. The last couple of dates had ended with both of them frustrated as she stopped him at the door to the building. He'd pushed fairly hard last time, but he'd backed off before she got pissed. She wasn't sure why she'd stopped him, even. She _really_ wanted to be naked with him again, and she was feeling comfortable with him. But it was like there was a force field at the front door. It was her space. Benji was the only guy who'd ever been in her space like that. She did her share of alley-catting, but she didn't bring her catches home.

It would have been much easier if they'd been on the road and they could have gone to his room. She'd have been at him a lot sooner in that case. She'd even thought of suggesting a motel in Berkeley, but that seemed just bizarre. So, instead, what they had was frustration and her behaving like a teenage "good girl" tease. Well, he said he'd never dated, so now he knew what he'd missed in high school.

She'd invited him to the party hoping that would break the force field. He'd accepted right away, probably hoping the same thing. She couldn't imagine he was actually excited about attending a party with her Bay Area musician peeps. He didn't exactly play well with others.

The door buzzer went off, and she trotted through the apartment. She had the party shit mostly set up already. She leaned on the front door and pushed the reply button, expecting it to be her boys. "Yep, it's Viv."

"Hey."

He was early—it was just now the time she'd said the party would start. She hadn't considered that he wouldn't know that's not when parties actually started. The whole point of this had been to get him into the house when it was full of people, so she would be less freaked about it. He didn't get the memo, though. She should have told him to be here an hour later.

So . . . okay. She buzzed him in and opened her door.

He came up quickly, taking the steps two and three at a time. He looked around when he came in and then turned to her. "I screw something up?"

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "No, baby, you're just the first one here."

He put his hands on her waist and looked down her shirt. He was never shy about staring at her boobs. She figured she was supposed to be offended, but she liked it. So sue her. Talking to her cleavage, he asked, "You need any help?"

"Nope. Pretty much all set up."

"Good." He picked her up by the waist and put against the nearest wall. He leaned his body on hers and kissed her hard, his hands sliding from her waist under her top. She looped her arms over his neck and kissed him just as hard. Lord, he felt good. Virility just crackled around him. She could feel his hard length pressed to her. She flexed against him, making him grunt.

Well, now that he'd crossed the force field, she couldn't think why in the hell she'd held him off so long. She wanted another run at that impressive cock of his. She dropped her hands and slid them under his t-shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his bare torso, pushing her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. He growled and lifted his head, his eyes boring into hers. "Christ, woman. The way you fuck with me."

The buzzer went off. He growled at it and let her go. Dex answered when she pressed the button: "Just us dudes."

"Do me a favor, baby, and prop the door when you come in? I don't want to be slave to this buzzer all night." The tenants all got along, and they had an agreement that propping the door was okay as long as everyone knew when it was propped. She'd cleared it with them when she invited them all to the party, and she'd reminded them that afternoon.

She buzzed her boys in and tried to shift gears from sex kitten to happy hostess.

* * *

The party was humming. Her apartment was full and bright. A party full of musicians meant lots of singing and dancing, people folding in and out of a continuous jam session. One of her rooms was a music room, where Viv kept her gear. Pops' baby grand was in there, too. When her grandparents were alive, it was in the living room, but Viv didn't really play more than to plink out a melody every now and then, so she'd opened the double doors and had the guys roll it into the music room. For the party, she'd opened the doors again so that people who played could play and be part of the scene.

Hap had wandered through the rooms of the apartment and then found himself a corner and settled in. He'd taken off his kutte and laid it on her dresser at some point. Most people gave him a berth—he just didn't look like the kind of guy you'd walk up and start a conversation with. This was not his scene, anyway; she knew he was here for the after-party. She went over to him several times to check in, bring him a refill or some food. He'd grab her and pull her into his lap for a memorable kiss and then put her back on her feet, saying something like, "I'm good. Do your party thing."

The party had been rolling for a while when a movement arose to get Leather to play their new music. So they put together their little makeshift acoustic setup, with Dex on hand drums, and played. It was the first time in the evening that Viv had jammed; she'd been busy hosting.

She'd had Hap's full attention pretty much all night; he'd just followed her with his eyes while she mingled and refilled drinks and whatever. Now, when she sat and put a guitar on her lap, he sat forward.

They'd recorded five songs for the EP, and they played all five. The third one they played was one of Viv's newest songs. She'd written it after Carson City, on her first day off the road, in fact. When she introduced it at the party and said, "This one's called 'Stay,'" she met Hap's eyes. She could see in them that the word resonated with him. Then she started to sing, Oscar picking up the harmony. In this instrument configuration it played with a little bit of a folksy slant.

_Don't go, baby.  
Don't go.  
Cuz you know I just wanna hold you  
Wanna keep you from the cold._

_The nights are long and lonely  
The road is bitter and dark  
But here in my arms, baby  
It's warm against my heart._

_So let me love you, baby.  
Let me show you what I mean.  
Let me bring you sunshine, baby  
Let me wake your dreams._

_Don't go, baby  
Don't go.  
Cuz you know I just wanna love you, baby  
Wanna keep you for my own._

She met his eyes again when it was done; she didn't think he'd moved. His expression was unreadable. She didn't know what she expected or wanted him to think, anyway. So she went on and played another song.

They finished with "Born in Fire." It was the first time she'd sung it in front of what might be called an audience, and she felt like an exposed nerve. And then Hap got up in the middle of the song and walked through the room and into her bedroom behind her. She tried to ignore him as she sang, so she could finish. When she was done, she stood up, handed her guitar to a nearby friend, said, "Tag—you're it," and went into her bedroom after Hap.

He was squatting next to the box holding her destroyed Martin. She couldn't bring herself to throw it away. "What happened here?"

She closed the door. "It broke. Something wrong, baby?"

He looked up at her for a second as if he were trying to decide whether to push the subject of the Martin. Then he stood up and came to her. He brushed her hair away from her cheek and rubbed her scar with his thumb. He did that a lot; she found it curious, but it didn't bother her. It was sweet, really.

He kissed her neck, running his tongue over her sensitive skin, and then looked down at her again. "Don't call me baby."

Not what she was expecting. She pulled back a little and raised an eyebrow at him. "Why not?"

"You call everybody baby." His hand was under her shirt, the firm skin of his palm sliding over her belly. Her breathing picked up.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Now his hand was moving up, over her bra, making her nipples rise. His fingers slid under the silky fabric and flicked back and forth across a hard bud. She moaned. Good Lord, she needed to get these people out of her apartment. She ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulders and neck to his head.

He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers, the scruff around his mouth tickling a bit. "I don't want to be everybody," he rasped. Then he wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed the shit out of her.

Oh, she was in trouble here.

* * *

Dex, Sean, and Oscar stayed after everyone else had left and helped with cleanup. It was late—well, early, really. Only and hour or two until dawn. They were getting used to Hap. She wouldn't say they liked each other. It was pretty clear that Hap had a problem with Oscar, and Dex was suspicious of Hap. But they made nice, more or less, for her sake. Sean was like a big dumb puppy and just liked everyone.

It was a little tense, though, and that tension wasn't helped by Hap's impatience for them to clear out. She shared that impatience, she had to admit, and was glad to throw the locks on the door when they'd gone.

As she turned the last lock, Hap was right up behind her, pressing her to the door, He pulled her hair to the side and pressed his mouth to her neck. He thrust his hips against her a couple of times and then held there. He nipped at her neck and growled, "You tell me to go, I'm gonna lose my fucking shit."

She pushed away from the door and turned around, his body still leaning on hers. He shifted and braced himself with his hands on either side of her head. She stood there for a moment, taking him in. His eyes were dark and focused. He was breathing heavily. He was so hard the pressure on her belly was almost uncomfortable. She smiled. "I don't want you to go."

He let out a breath and kissed her hard, his tongue plunging into her mouth. His intensity was overwhelming and so fucking hot. She put her arms around him, her hands under his t-shirt. He grunted and flexed against her. She raked her nails up his back, and he pulled away with a growl.

She liked that kiss. She didn't want that to stop. Her eyes still closed, she whimpered and grabbed his t-shirt to bring him back, but he held off. "Vivian, open your eyes." She opened them to see him staring hard at her. "I don't want to fuck you and go. I want to stay. Sleep here. With you."

That was certainly eye-opening. She was quiet for a while, thinking. If he stayed, then they were starting something. Is that what she wanted? To be with someone like Happy? She wanted him to stay—Lord, did she want him to stay—but she wasn't sure the proper part of her body was thinking things through here.

Some things just made more sense to her on the road. Sex was one of those things. On the road, it was: that guy, yes, let's go, thank you, bye. Here, he was in her own house, her own space. Everything was complicated, and she felt vulnerable.

Her brain spun crazily, trying to make the right call. She was being too quiet, she knew, so she tried to find a noncommittal yes. She was also trying to remember not to call him baby, which was a reflex word for her. She gave him a sexy smile and twirled her finger on his chest. "Well, I suppose you do deserve a treat for being so good at the party—"

He knocked her hand away and put his hand around her jaw, squeezing just a bit and pressing her against the door. "No. Don't fucking joke. Listen." He was staring _so_ hard at her, as if he were trying to will her to give him the answer he wanted. "I want to stay. With you."

Oh, hell. That's what she wanted, too. And it was not smart. She knew it wasn't. He was violent. You only had to look at his face, his hands, his body to know that. You only had to watch him in a crowd to know it. The smart call was to send him on home, right now. But she wasn't going to. She wanted him to stay. She really hoped she wasn't being a stupid cow and getting tangled up with a guy who was going to add to her collection of scars she'd gotten courtesy of men she'd loved. Because she was falling for him, falling hard.

She swallowed and whispered, "Stay."

He blew out a long breath and relaxed his hold on her face into a caress. "Christ, honey. You fucking unman me." He kissed her gently, then he smiled. "But now I'm gonna fuck you unconscious." He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the apartment and into her bedroom.

She started to undress as soon as they got to the bed; this time he didn't make a fuss about who was going to be doing the undressing and instead stripped down himself. Smart fella. Lord, he was something to look at. She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts and her lips to his tattooed back.

He turned around in her arms and fed his hands into her hair. He leaned back and looked. "This hair is something else. Makes you look like a wild thing, especially when you're naked."

She grinned. "Oh, baby, you have no idea." He smiled and gave her a look, and she realized what she'd called him. "Sorry. That's gonna take some work, you know."

He squeezed his arms around her waist and picked her up. "Long as you're trying. Don't let it distract you now—you call me anything you want right now." He turned and dropped her on her bed. She scooted back and lay her head on the pillows. Before he joined her, he reached for his jeans.

"You don't need that."

He paused. "Don't want a mistake."

"I'm on the Pill. If we're starting something—that's what you want, right? That's what you meant?" She waited for his answer. After a short pause, he nodded. "And you're clean?" He huffed and nodded again. "Me too. So we don't need that. We'll talk later, but I'm just sayin.' You want to be bare in me, I'm saying okay."

He grinned, dropped his jeans, and lay down on her. "That's what I fucking like to hear."

He propped up on his elbows over her. She lifted her head to kiss him, running her tongue over his lips before she pushed into his mouth. He grunted in something like surprise. She thought it was going to take time for him to get used to a woman who took some charge. Broadening his horizons. She smiled in the middle of the kiss. He pulled back. "What's funny?"

She wasn't going to tell him that. "I'm just glad you're here."

He shifted down in one quick move so that his face was level with her chest. "Me too, honey." Then he bent down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Sweet Lord Jesus, that felt good. She clutched his head to her. Not many men really knew what they were doing around—well, around the female body just in general, really. But breasts seemed especially vexatious somehow. Lots of pawing and plumping, maybe some licking, if you were lucky some sucking. Or they went at them like some kind of industrial machine. A man who knew where and how to suck? Or how much pressure in a pinch or twist was just enough? That was rare, in her experience. Which was a shame, because her girls liked to play.

Hap knew what he was doing. He had the heat spreading fast through her loins; she was getting real fidgety. Then he moved to the other breast and brought his hand up to work the first. "Oh Jesus, baby, that feels so fucking good." He gave her nipple just the right twist at the same time he nipped at the other, and she about arched off the bed, "Oh fuck, yeah! You're gonna make me come, baby, just like that." He raised his head and looked at her, twisting her nipple again. She cried out, her hips coming off the bed. Shit, she thought she really might. She wanted more than that, though. "Baby, come on, I want to feel you. Come on, come on."

He chuckled and said, "Don't you worry. I'm gonna make you come so hard in so many ways tonight you're gonna forget your own name. You didn't give me much of a chance before." He shifted down farther and pressed his mouth to her clit. He took a nipple in each hand and gave them each a pinchy twist as he flattened his tongue against her and licked her hard. And off she went. "Jesus Christ! Fuck!" she yelled and bucked against his face. He stayed on her, and she just kept coming, her muscles so tense she could only grunt. Finally, she grabbed his head and pulled him off, really feeling like her head might actually burst. "Fuck, Hap, you're gonna kill me."

"Honey, I'm just getting started. You gotta have more stamina than that." He came up and kissed her, letting her taste herself in his mouth. He slid into her then without ceremony, and she took in a long, gasping breath as he filled her utterly. Holy Lord, nothing felt quite like this man's cock inside her. Even better now because it was just him, unwrapped, hot and huge and throbbing inside her. She met his eyes, and he watched her as he pulled almost all the way out and then slammed, hard and fast, back to the hilt. He reached places she didn't even know were in there. She brought her legs up around his waist and tilted her hips a bit to change the angle, and he grunted and sped up.

"Fuck, Vivian. Fuck," he groaned. He was really moving now, and she was on her way up again, almost squealing every time he went deep.

"God, baby. You fuck so hard. Oh, Lord, it's so fucking good. Oh, yeah, oh yeah." She just kept yammering and getting closer and closer, lifting her hips to meet him every time he pushed into her.

And then he stopped cold. She opened her eyes. He was looking down at her, panting, beads of sweat across his brow. "Hold off. Breathe."

_What_? She whimpered and flexed, trying to draw him back, but he pulled farther away. "Control, honey. Come back down. Breathe."

She was thinking she might kill him in his sleep later, but she tried to back off and calm down. "What are you playing at, Hap? You're killing me."

He grinned. "No, I'm not. Wait." She felt swollen and unstable, like an overinflated balloon, but she took a long, shaky breath and made herself relax.

Then he slid his arms under her and sat back on his heels, pulling her up with him to rest on his thighs. At that angle, with her weight on him, he got so much deeper than she would have thought possible. His pressed his mouth to her throat and sucked. He looked up and said, "Go," and then bent down and took a nipple into his mouth.

She knew what he meant. She put her feet flat on the bed and lifted up, then dropped down. She cried out, and then she bounced on him, hard and oh-so-fucking-deep, again coming for what seemed like forever, making little gasping screams she couldn't seem to control every time she landed on him, her nails embedded in his shoulders, until he clutched her close and roared into her chest.

He leaned forward and brought them back down to the bed. He pulled out and then relaxed on her, his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms tight around his heaving back and sighed deeply. This man was setting a whole new standard for great sex.

They were only getting started. Hap was a man of his word.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Were you wondering what the hell is with her scar?

The quote Viv mentions in this chapter is by Hélène Cixous, from "The Laugh of the Medusa," (originally published in French as "Le Rire de la Méduse").

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 9:**

"That's How Strong My Love Is," Otis Redding

_He dreams fire. Just fire, burning, burning. The rank odor of burned wood and fiber and roasted flesh, the way it clings and clings to everything: clothes, skin, the inside of nose and mouth and eyes. And screams. Wrenching, throat bursting, heart splitting screams._

Happy opened his eyes.

And had no fucking idea where he was. He sat up in a rush. He had no weapon. Fuck!

"Hap?"

He flinched and turned fast to see Vivian, and everything fell into place. He lay back down next to her and closed his eyes while the adrenaline receded from his blood.

"You okay, ba—you okay?" She put her hand on his stomach.

He linked fingers with hers. "Yeah."

"You were dreaming. You were tense."

"It's nothing." He rolled toward her and pulled her close. He'd never woken up with a woman he wanted to wake up with before. "Morning." He kissed her, running his hand from her shoulder down her back and over her hip. He lingered over her scar.

Smiling, she snuggled close and kissed his chest. "Technically, I think it's afternoon, but hello."

He came up on his elbow. His dream still lingered in his head, and he suddenly had to know something. "Tell me about your scar." She tried to roll away, but he held her hip. "Tell me."

"Fuck, ba—fuck. That's how you start the day? Come on."

He held her, not letting her pull away. "I need to know. Tell me."

He could see she was pissed. But he couldn't let it go. "Tell me. Please."

That got her attention. It wasn't a word he said easily, and she knew it. He kissed her again.

She tipped back so she could look him in the eye. "You're asking a lot."

He nodded. He figured he was.

"It's a long story."

"I got time, honey. Tell me."

She was quiet for awhile. He let her be. He put his head back down and waited, his hand still on her hip, his thumb gently rubbing the slope of her waist.

She took a deep breath before she started. "My dad was . . . he had a temper. He was mean."

Hap's heartbeat picked up, and he rose back up on his elbow. "Your _father_ did that to you?"

"Do you want the story or not?"

He nodded.

"He was mean. He hit. My mom was better at staying out of his way, so he mainly hit me. She was glad of that, I think. She never stopped him or said anything. She just sort of . . . retreated whenever he came at me. Usually just a slap or a backhand. But sometimes he really knocked the shit out of me. And he liked to make a big production out of using a belt when I'd actually done something wrong."

Now, imagining a belt being strapped against her skin, raising welts and causing her pain, Hap was having to concentrate on keeping his body relaxed so he didn't scare her.

"He was building a fire in the fireplace one day, and I came through the room and tripped. I spilled orange soda on the rug. It was an expensive rug. I spilled a lot of soda." She stopped and closed her eyes. He made himself count to five between breaths. After a minute, she went on.

"He pulled a log out of the fire and beat me with it. I don't think he really thought about what he was doing. I did something that pissed him off, and he grabbed the first thing to hand that would hurt me. The end he wasn't holding was flaming, so, not surprisingly, I caught fire. We'd just done the 'stop, drop, and roll' lesson in school, which is probably why I didn't die, or, you know, really look different. That's the only place that got burned enough to scar like that.

"The hysterical part is I totally destroyed the fucking rug trying not to burn to death."

He had to sit up; he was having trouble with control. "How old were you?"

"Twelve."

He jumped out of her bed and, not knowing what else to do, went over and gripped the top of her dresser in his hands. The red haze was on him, but he couldn't lose his shit here. Fuck, he could _not_ lose his shit right now.

"Hap?" There was a tremble in her voice. He was being so shitty, moving away from her after that. But he needed a minute.

"Give me a minute, Vivian." He closed his eyes and counted, slowly, trying to pull back, find control.

When he found it, he turned back to the bed. She was sitting up under the covers, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin on her knees.

"Where's he now?"

She lifted her head and looked at him. "Dead."

Okay. Good. He nodded and went back to her. He got back into her bed and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her temple. He didn't know how to comfort a woman, or how to know whether she wanted to be comforted. But he knew he wanted to hold her.

She leaned into him. "Why did you need to hear that so bad?"

He'd never talked about his family. He didn't know what he would say. Instead of answering her question, he asked another of his own. "What does it feel like to be burned like that?"

She jerked away from him, moving fast enough that he lost hold of her, and got out of bed. "Lord, baby. You sure know how to fuck up a good thing." She walked, naked, out of the room.

Fuck. He got up and followed her, pausing to pull on his jeans. "Wait. Wait, Vivian." She didn't. He found her in the kitchen, filling the pot for coffee. He walked up behind her and kissed the back of her head. Then he reached around and turned the faucet off and took the pot out of her hands. He set it on the counter and pulled gently on her shoulder, trying to turn her to him. She resisted.

"Look at me, honey."

She let out a long breath and turned around. "I think I like you better when you don't have anything to say. Why would you ask a sick fucking question like that?"

He tried to think of how he would tell her about the fire. But he didn't know. He couldn't. Words like that didn't have a path out of his mouth. Instead, he said simply, "I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything at first; she merely looked into his eyes, as if she were trying to see for herself the thoughts that didn't get the light of day. Then she put her hands on his shoulders. "Bab—" she cut herself off and cleared her throat. "You really suck at this, you know. Good thing I have a thick skin. Looks like I'm gonna need it to get you over your learning curve."

He pulled her close and looked down into her dark, expressive eyes. "I'm not good at talking about shit."

"You have to get better, though, Hap. It's not a relationship if we can't talk. Both of us—not just you forcing shit out of me. If we're serious, you need to let me in. Is that what you want—us to be serious for each other?"

Another question he didn't know how to answer. She was right; he sucked at this. "I don't know what that means. I want you in my life. I want to be with you. If that's serious, then yeah, I'm serious about it."

She pulled his hands loose from around her waist and took them in her own. "I think we should figure out what we mean. Let's go sit down." She led him into the living room. She was still naked, and he was thinking about things he'd rather be doing other than talking, but he let her push him down onto her couch.

She sat next to him, one leg folded under her, exposing her core to him. He imagined leaning over her and sliding his fingers inside her. He closed his eyes. "Honey, you want to talk, you're gonna need some clothes."

She grinned and got up, went into the bedroom, and came back out wearing a white chenille robe. "Better?" she asked, pulling her hair loose from the collar.

He chuckled. "I don't know about better. But less distracting, yeah."

She sat back down, facing him. Her eyes were on his chest; he could tell she was really looking at his ink. She lifted her hand and traced the words across the top. "You're a serious guy, Hap. I know that. And I know you don't make room for women in your life. You've said as much, or almost, and it's obvious, anyway. So why are you here, with me? What is it that you want?"

He sighed. "Now you're asking a lot."

"Don't you know?" She shifted and put a little more space between them. He wondered if he was pissing her off. Usually, he was much better at reading people. This relationship shit gave him a headache.

"I know. I don't know how to say it."

"Try, baby." She stopped, cleared her throat. "Try, Hap. For me."

He had grown to hate it when she called him baby. It made him feel like he wasn't anyone special to her. He felt like he'd already put a lot more on the line than she had, and that made him feel jumpy or something.

"Dammit, Vivian. I'm telling you the only way I can. I've been following you around like a fucking stray dog for months. But you don't tell me shit. I got no idea how you feel. What do _you_ want?"

For several seconds, she didn't answer. She just stared into his eyes. He stared back. He didn't know if she was getting pissed, but he was. Then she asked, "What do you do for the Sons?"

He hadn't expected that at all; it was way off topic, and it wasn't something he wanted to answer right now. "What do you mean?"

"Your job with the Sons. Every biker I know has a role. What's yours?"

He stood up and walked a few steps away before he turned back. "Why ask that now?"

"You want to know what I want. I need more information before I can answer your question. You say I don't tell you shit, but you know a lot more about me than I know about you. So let's start with what you do for the Sons."

Fuck it. If she couldn't deal, best to know it now. He crossed his arms and looked her straight in the eye. "I'm an enforcer. Interrogator. Assassin. I do the things nobody else can—or will. I'm good at it. And I like it." He turned and pointed to the large group of smiley faces on the right side of his chest. "You see these? Each one is a kill."

She stood and walked up to him. She put her hand on his chest and touched every face. All sixteen of them. The feel of her fingers made his heart race.

"God, Hap," she whispered. He closed his eyes and started to prepare himself for the end of this thing that hadn't started yet.

He felt her hand on his face, and he opened his eyes to see her regarding him steadily. "I think about you all the time, too. I try not to, but I do anyway. I think I'm falling for you—no, that's not true. I have fallen for you. I want you in my life. Your smiley faces don't scare me off. But our lives are both complicated, and that's why I want to know what you want. We live apart. I travel a lot. You travel, too. If we're going to be serious, what does that look like?"

He hadn't thought about this part at all. She was away a lot. He hated that. "Maybe we don't live apart." _Holy shit_. What did he just say? Why did he say it?

She laughed. "Slow down there, cowboy. No. That's not the answer. At some point, maybe. But down the road." She sat back down on the couch. "Okay, let's try this question. Do you want to be exclusive—sexually, I mean? Even with all the travel?"

"The club has a way of dealing with that shit."

"Yeah, I know all about that. Here's what I'm saying: whatever we decide works the same for both of us. I'm open to a lot of decisions, but whatever it is works for me like it works for you. You need groupie love, then I get to play, too. You want me to be exclusive, you have to be, too."

The thought of anyone else touching her made him crazy. The thought of her being gone for weeks and months at a time made him crazy. "I'll kill anyone who touches you. Not joking, Vivian. I wouldn't be able to control myself."

"And the thought of some bimbo hanging off your dick like a tick doesn't thrill me. So are we exclusive, then? Because I say again, Hap: what we decide is mutual."

Christ, this woman and her demands. She was the one who'd be gone all the goddamn time, leaving him on his own. "You want that, you need to be around more."

She shook her head and sat back down. "Not how this works. I have a job, people who rely on me to do it. It takes me on the road. If you can't hold off while I'm gone, I understand. I'm just saying no to a double standard."

This wasn't going to work. He couldn't deal with all these demands and constraints and expectations. Too many fucking complications. It was just too fucking much.

For a split second, he'd actually decided to leave. But he looked at her sitting there on her old-fashioned couch with the weird, worn floral pattern and the ornate wood frame, her hair still sex-and-sleep tousled and even wilder than usual, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, one long leg exposed where she'd crossed it over the other. He thought about the story of her scar. About her beautiful voice and the songs she'd written. About how it felt to be in the same room with her. How it felt to be inside her. All he wanted was to have her. Be with her. Stay with her.

He was ruined.

"Fuck. Okay, okay. Exclusive. But I am going to come to you every chance I get. I'm not letting you out of my sight for months at a time." And he was going to figure out a way to get her off the fucking road. That last part he kept to himself.

She smiled and stood up. "I hope that's true, baby." She shook her head. "Sorry. I hope it's true. Because I'll be lonely out there without you." She walked to him and put her hands on his chest. She pushed him firmly until he had to back up; she kept pushing until he hit the wall. He was hard before he hit the plaster. Then she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him deeply. She nipped at his lower lip as she pulled away. He was thinking about throwing her over his shoulder and taking her back to bed.

And then she went down on her knees in front of him. She looked up and grinned at him as she opened his belt and then his jeans. She released his engorged cock and grasped it at the base, in both hands. Then she licked up and down his length repeatedly, flicking her tongue over the sensitive underside of its head as she passed it.

"Fucking Christ, Vivian." He groaned loudly as she took him into her mouth and sucked him down. He grabbed fistfuls of her hair and pressed into her until he felt the back of her throat. She didn't resist or show signs of distress. Instead, she relaxed her throat and brought him deeper. He leaned his head back against the wall and let out a shaky breath.

He tried to relax and let her do all the moving, but the silky soft feel of sliding in and out of her mouth quickly got to be too much to contain, and he started to thrust hard into her. She put her hands on his hips, holding him back. Not stopping him, just controlling his pace and depth, keeping the lead.

The pressure hit the base of his cock so fast and hard he gasped. She must have sensed it, too, because she picked up the pace and let go of his hips to take his cock in her hands again. He thrust into her hard as she continued to suck him in. When he came, he roared like an animal. She stayed on him, swallowing down everything he gave her.

He rested against the wall for a couple of minutes. When he opened his eyes, she was still on the floor, sitting back on her heels and watching him with an amused smirk. "What?" he asked, closing his jeans.

"You roar when you come. It's hot."

He laughed and held out his hands to help her up. "I don't usually. That's new. With you."

Her smile was huge and delighted. "Well, then, that's a lot hotter."

"Don't get any fuller of yourself, woman. You're barely tolerable as it is." He picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom. He was not done with her yet.

* * *

It was nearing dark when Hap got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Such a girly room—all done in purple and yellow, with makeup and sprays and lotions and shit everywhere. Towels with little satin edging. Paintings of flowers on the walls. Reminded him of the bathroom his mother and sister had shared when he was a kid. Women and their crap. Damn.

He pissed, washed his hands, and then spent a couple of minutes rooting around, opening bottles and taking whiffs every so often. He picked up one little glass bottle with some kind of oily liquid in it and sniffed.

That was it. That's what she smelled like, though this was much stronger. He looked at the label. Lavender and honey perfume oil. He looked around and saw several other containers with the same label—body lotion, bubble bath, aromatherapy spray (whatever that was). This was her scent. He palmed the perfume oil and went back to her bedroom.

"Can I keep this?" He held out the little bottle.

She was stretched out under her comforter, her arms over her head on the pillow. She lifted up a little to get a look at what he had. "What? Why?"

"It's how you smell. I want to have it when I don't have you with me."

She didn't answer right away, and he couldn't read her look. It made him feel insecure—he'd identified the weird jumpy feeling she gave him so often. Feeling insecure was a completely new thing for Hap, and he couldn't say it was his favorite part of this deal.

"Jesus, Hap. I don't think you could have said a better thing right then. That was sweet as hell. Yeah. Please keep it. And get back in here."

He put the bottle in the pocket of his jeans and got back into bed with her. She rolled to him and nestled under his arm, her head on his chest. That felt great. Calming.

After a few minutes spent getting to know the feeling of this closeness, he said, "Vivian. I'm curious about a couple things."

She tipped her head up. "Oh, Lord. What? Do _not_ ask about my burn again."

"No. But why a Medusa? She turned men to stone, right? Seems aggressive for someone like you."

She put her head back on his chest and sighed, and he could hear the relief in it. He was relieved, too. He hadn't hit another sore point.

"Someone like me being someone who's been with a lot of men?"

He shrugged. Yeah, pretty much.

"I read something when I was in college. I was in this women's studies class, and we read some really weird shit. But in one of them the writer said, and I've always remembered it word for word since I read it: "You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she's not deadly. She's beautiful and she's laughing." I didn't understand almost anything else in the essay it was in, but that made perfect sense to me, and, I don't know. It spoke to me. The idea that a woman—me, in this case—isn't all that hard to understand if you just try. That she's worthwhile. So it means almost the opposite of what you thought."

He had tipped his head down to watch her as she spoke. Now he kissed her head. "I like that."

She kissed his chest. "You said 'a couple things.' I'm feeling lucky after that one, so what else are you curious about?"

"What happened to your guitar?"

She pushed off of him and sat up. "Snake eyes. I told you, it broke."

He sat up, too. "No, it was destroyed. Did you decide you wanted to be Pete Townsend?"

She laughed and the tension she'd suddenly been giving off eased. "Look at you—you made a joke _and_ a music reference!"

"Smartass woman. I'm funny. And I wasn't raised in a cave."

She looked at him. He could see the gears spinning. "I'm willing to tell you what happened. But I need you to promise that you will keep your cool and that you will let it go."

That had him on alert. "Not making that promise, Vivian. It depends on what you tell me."

"I can't tell you, then."

It was time for him to set some limits of his own. This was bullshit. "You've made a lot of demands. I'm trying to be good with them. Now here's a demand I have. You need to understand who I am. Respect it. If somebody hurts you, I am going to take care of it. I'm not going to become somebody else for you. People who hurt the ones I love get paid back. Period.

"I can't have you hiding shit or lying about it. You do that, you and I have a problem. I'm not stupid, Vivian. I'm not good at this shit"—he gestured between them—"but I pay fucking attention. I worked out that the tweaker beat you and scarred your face. Now I'm working out that he did that to your favorite guitar. I'm going to guess they happened at the same time. So first, he's going to buy you a new one, and then he's going to eat the bones of this one."

She was quiet, looking at him. He stared back. He wasn't going to give here. She was going to have to learn to live with him as he was or not at all.

"Did you just say you love me?"

_Fuck_. Did he? He ran back through his speech. Yeah, he did. This was why talking was bad. He looked at her, trying to understand how she felt. Christ, she always had him dangling out on some limb. He held her gaze and said, "Yeah."

She smiled and said, "Jesus." She started to say more, but he didn't want to hear it.

"Shut up about that. Just stay on the subject. Tell me what happened."

Still smiling, she made a little conciliatory nod and told him what happened. When she was done, she added, "He's not going to buy me a new guitar, Hap. Nothing you could do to him would make that happen. It was an $18,000 custom Martin, which my grandparents gave to me. It's irreplaceable."

Oh, he was going to break that skinny, spotty asshole into twigs.

She continued. "And I hear you. I think I even like it a little. Which, frankly, does not jive with who I think I am. But Benji is a guy with a problem. He was totally sweet and gentle. It's the crystal that's made him like this, and the crystal is already destroying him all on its own. It would make me sad to see him hurt more. I just want him to stay away—and he has now, for weeks. Couldn't we start this whole territorial protectiveness thing as of now?

"You want me to let all that slide?"

"Please?"

"Fuck, woman." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Fine. But if he comes within the same city limits of you ever again, I am going to make him very dead."

"He comes at me again, I don't think I'll be so sad about something happening to him." She lay back and pulled him with her. He went easily and settled between her legs, his cock hard between their bellies. She rubbed her hands over his scalp. "Now, I can think of other things to do with all that testosterone."

He pressed his lips to the base of her throat and sucked until she moaned. His mouth still on her, he rasped, "Tell me what you want."

She flexed against him. "I want you to fuck me."

He sucked her earlobe. "Tell me what you want."

"I want your huge cock inside me."

He shifted and slid one hand down between them, over her clit and into her core. He probed deep. "Tell me what you want." He curled his fingers inside her.

She gasped and surged down on his hand. "Hap, please."

He flicked his thumb over her clit. "Tell me."

She was panting and squirming. She pulled back a little and pushed him up so she could see his face. He kept his hand moving, exploring her heat, exciting her clit. "Tell me."

She gasped and moaned, but she kept her eyes on his. "Hap, I want you to love me."

He brought his hand up and shifted over her. He slid deep into her, and Christ, she felt so good, skin to skin. Warm and silky and sweet. The life he'd been living, Hap had almost never been bare inside a woman. As he filled her totally, he said in his low, rough voice, "I do. God help me, I do."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I'm about to leave for a work trip and will be gone, and mostly away from internet access (because I'm too cheap to pay to have it in my hotel room), for about a week. But I have some chapters ready. So I'm going to post a chapter today and another one tomorrow, and then this story will be quiet for several days—through the weekend. Sorry!

Sorry, too for all the technical difficulties. It seems like what was (is?) happening is that updates were (are?) taking a crazy long time to go live-like almost a whole day. A couple of you told me that the problem was happening with other stories, so I'm glad it wasn't just me, I guess, and I hope it's resolved.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. I do claim everything else, for better or worse.

* * *

**CHAPTER 10:  
**"We're All the Way," Eric Clapton

Viv's phone alerted a text coming in. She pulled it out of her pocket. Dex: _Check music. NOW. We're coming. 1hr. _He'd included a link. And the boys had invited themselves over, it seemed.

Sitting on BART heading back to Berkeley, she clicked the link. It was a review of their EP. Their self-produced EP. Reviewed in the Chronicle, San Francisco's major paper. Well, on the website of the Chronicle. It wasn't appearing in print. But still. That was a lot of exposure.

They'd emailed the arts and music editor with a link to their material, but every band from high school garage bands on up did that. They had no expectation that anybody would do anything with it.

Viv sat back and read the review with a sense of dread. What if they hated it? That kind of exposure they didn't need.

They didn't hate it. At all. She was having a hard time keeping all the words in her head, but the ones that were sticking were words like "sultry," "electric," "impressive," and her favorite, "Leather honors the traditions of the blues genre while pushing it forward into the new territory of the future."

There was also a whole paragraph on Viv's voice—and her looks. The writer thought she was sexy. She and her voice. He went on a bit about it. Got kinda weird. But hey, good review, so let him have his little fantasy.

When she got back to her apartment, she read it again on her laptop. It was even better on a bigger screen. The door buzzed and a call came through simultaneously. She answered her phone as she went out to the door.

"Hi there. Hold one sec. Boys at the door." She pressed the button. "It's Viv."

Dex said "It's us." She buzzed them in and opened her door. Then she went back to Hap.

"What's up?"

"Just saw the review. Wanted to tell you I'm proud." Well, that was sweet as hell. Her romantically challenged hitman squeeze was turning out to be a quick study.

"Thanks, Hap. I'm surprised you've already seen it." He wasn't much for the internet.

"Brother showed it to me. It's a great review, though I'm going to have to cut that guy's eyes out of his head. What's it mean, you think?"

"Hey, now. He appreciates true beauty. Nothing wrong with that. Also, you'd better be joking. But the review means probably nothing. Maybe more people at our shows. Maybe enough people will buy the EP so that it pays for itself. That would be cool." It was getting loud in the apartment; her boys weren't being as measured in their response. They were actually popping champagne. Dorks. "M'I gonna see you soon?"

"Not until next week. We've got some shit going on around here, so I need to stay close. I will be there next week, though. And Vivian, you be fucking safe, you hear me? Don't prop the damn door. For anything. I mean it."

She might have backed him off in some ways, but he was still bossy as hell. He was learning to reserve it for important stuff, and she was learning that when he got like this it was important to him. He hated how often the front door got propped for one reason or another. "Should I be worried about you?"

"Don't ever need to worry about me, honey. I'm always good. You just stay safe for me, okay?"

"Okay. Miss you."

"Damn, I miss you. I'll call tomorrow." He ended the call.

It had been a little more than a month since the EP release party. Their little romance was cooking nicely, and next week was Christmas. Hap was being weird about it. Nothing she could define exactly, but he was adamant that she stay home and he stay with her. The whole band had plans to spend Christmas in Tahoe with Dex's family, as usual, but Viv begged off this year, because Hap didn't want to go to Tahoe (which was probably for the best anyway—he would have freaked out Dex's staid parents) and he would not be separated from her even for part of the holiday. It was just going to be her and Hap.

Their first Christmas. She might have been excited about it, except for Hap's weirdness whenever she brought up anything about it. She'd asked him what kind of holiday traditions or food he liked so she could do something like that here, but he'd shut that conversation down quickly and a bit harshly. He might be a quick study, but sometimes he still acted like he'd been raised in a cave.

She went to the kitchen and pulled down some glasses for the champagne.

* * *

Hap came up a few days before Christmas and planned to spend at least a week in Berkeley with her. She was glad for a long stretch like that; they had their next tour coming up in the middle of January, and she'd be gone for weeks. She'd put up a little Christmas tree, with multicolored lights and little glass ornaments, but Hap barely noticed. Maybe Christmas just wasn't his thing.

As long as Christmas wasn't mentioned, everything was great at first. They spent the first couple of days in bed, ordering food and eating it naked, going nowhere but deeper into each other. They emerged from the comforter eventually and went back out into the world a bit. She loved having him with her. She was over the moon for this guy.

He was being oddly, uncharacteristically clingy, though. He would not even let her run down the street to pick up milk without him. He went with her to band practice and glowered at Oscar the whole time. Jesus, he even went to the bathroom with her when they were out, standing guard outside the door. It was like he was her bodyguard, not her boyfriend. It was starting to wear.

Two nights before Christmas, they played a local show. It was their best venue—lots of familiar, friendly faces, and with the holiday, the place was packed. The Chron review might have helped some, too—plus, they had some other favorable reviews from smaller, indie publications. Everybody's mood was high—the band's, the crowd's. Everybody but Hap, who looked on edge and out of sorts all night.

Usually he liked her performance wardrobe, but this time he'd given her a disapproving look. She was wearing a snug, red, spangly, low-cut mini-dress and black thigh-high boots. It was Christmas, after all. And it wasn't like she didn't wear mini-skirts and boots to perform at other times.

"Fuck, Vivian. You understand what I'm going to do when the drunks get handsy, right? You're gonna land me on the Row."

"You need to settle down, Hap. It's fine. Not the first time I've worn this. I can handle myself, and I don't need you to dress me. That's not okay. Sex is part of the blues. So sex appeal is part of the gig. You would have loved this outfit a few months ago. Think about that."

"That's what I _am_ thinking about. And what every dick in there is going to be thinking about. But you're mine now, and they don't get to think about you like that."

"Baby—" She hadn't slipped in weeks. She sighed. "Hap, come on. You gonna kill or maim everybody who gives me a second look? You're being ridiculous. Men look at me. If you're that territorial, you _will_ end up on the Row. Maybe it would be better if you just hung out here until I get back tonight."

He grabbed her arms and pulled her close. "No fucking chance. I'm staying with you. But if you insist on wearing that, and someone disrespects you, that blood's on your hands."

Jesus. "I'm not even going to start with you about how fucking offensive the whole idea that _anything_ is my fault because of a dress I'm wearing. Fucking Neanderthal bullshit. Try some restraint. Be a human being instead of a walking cock." She shook his hands off of her.

First real fight? Check.

* * *

Hap was in a mood the whole night, so Viv decided to ignore him and let him have his snit. She sat with him for a while at the break, but he wasn't in a company frame of mind, so she went and mingled with friends in the crowd—all of whom were well behaved toward her. She looked over at him occasionally and always met his eyes, because he was always looking at her. Just sitting there looking like murder incarnate. There was a blank space around him, even in the crowded bar, like he was giving off poison fumes or something.

After their last set, he came up to her and said, "Let's go."

"Hold up, baby." That one she did on purpose and let sit there. "Some people I want to say goodbye to." She was fucking sick of the way he was acting. She took her time mingling with her friends, wishing them happy holidays, handing out hugs. Then she went and hugged her boys, since she wasn't spending the holiday with the band for the first time in a long time.

As she hugged Oscar, Hap came up and grabbed her arm. "We're going _now_." He pulled her through the bar. No. No. Not how this worked. She yanked her arm, but he wouldn't let her go. He squeezed a lot tighter—enough to bruise, definitely enough to hurt. And then she got scared. He was dragging her. He was big. He was pissed. And he had real violence in him. If he wanted to hurt her, she was well and truly screwed.

"Hap! Please! You're hurting me! Please!" He turned and dropped her arm. She rubbed at the sore spot and just went with her fear. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. Just please calm down."

"Shit, Vivian."

He took a step toward her, but she was freaking out now. Jesus, men. Enough with the hitting of women already. Enough. She backed up. "Please, Happy. Just calm down. I'm sorry."

"Vivian, I'm not going to hurt you!"

She wasn't going to argue with him. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing and stop looking at me like that! I'm not going to fucking hurt you!" She saw him realize how he was yelling. He backed off. "Fuck!" He picked up a chair and heaved it into a wall, where it broke into all its separate component parts. He put his hands flat on a table and leaned over, breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

There were people watching—her boys among them—but no one was getting between them. Hap was that scary. If he wanted to hurt her, they'd probably let him. It was her childhood all over again.

She felt tears coming. She fought them off, but her eyes were filling anyway. He stood upright and looked at her, and he saw them. She hadn't cried in front of him before. She didn't cry that often. Enough bad shit happens, the bar gets pretty high for cry-worthy events.

"Aw, Vivian. Fuck. Come on, honey. I'm sorry I scared you." He was a lot calmer, and she started to relax a little. He walked up to her, and she let him come.

He wiped the couple of escaped tears from her cheeks. "Don't cry. I'm sorry. Let's go back to your place and talk. I don't like the audience."

He kissed her forehead, then took her hand. She was not so comfortable with the idea of being alone with him right now, but she went.

* * *

Her phone started blowing up within a couple of minutes of leaving the bar. Dex. Over and over. When they got back to her building, she texted, _I'm fine. It's cool_, and then turned off her phone. Thanks for waiting until she was alone with the big, angry assassin, buddy. Big help. Hap took her hand and led her into her living room. She was still feeling wary, and she let him set her on her sofa. She sat there quietly, still dressed in her red dress and tall boots. He sat next to her.

"You gotta help me here, Vivian. I am out of my depth."

She turned to him. She studied his face. It was the face she loved, looking at her with love and concern. She cleared her throat. "Help you with what?"

"The way I feel about you. I never felt like this. I'm not in control of it."

She felt tired and overwhelmed, and she didn't understand what he needed. "I don't know what you want me to do. What aren't you in control of?"

"I'm jealous. Fuck, honey. I'm so damn jealous. I can't have men looking at you the way they look at you."

Now she was even more tired. She leaned her head against the back of the sofa. "What do you want from me, Hap? Men look at me. If you want me to wear a burlap sack on stage, we have a problem."

He reached out and brushed her hair back from her face, coiling a lock around his fingers. She managed not to flinch when his hand came toward her. "I think about you dressed like this, assholes eating you up with their eyes, wanting more from you, while you're away from me, where I can't keep you safe, and I feel like I'm going to lose my shit. Just dial it down a little. Cover up some."

She didn't want to fight about it any more. "Okay. Pants and hippie shirts. Good enough?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Thank you." He put his hand on her cheek, rubbing the backs of his fingers over her cheekbone. "Do I have to do something about Oscar?"

She'd wondered when that was going to come to a head. She sat up. "What are you talking about?" She knew, but she was going to make him say it out loud.

"The way you are on stage with him . . ."

"Hap, that's a performance. We're singing songs about love and sex. We're acting. I'm with you. I only want you."

"The way he looks at you—makes me want to hurt him. He's not acting, Vivian. He wants you. I don't trust him. And you push right up on him."

"_On stage_. You don't have to trust him, Hap. You have to trust me. If you trust me, then you know you don't have anything to worry about. Hell, _you_ couldn't get me to do anything I didn't want to do. What chance to you think anyone else has?"

He chuckled at that. "Okay. Good point." He paused and then said, "I'm sorry I lost my shit and scared you. I have a lot of feelings around you I'm not used to. I'm trying to get right with it all. But I swear, Vivian. I will never hurt you. You have to trust me. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

She decided not to push the point of the bruise she could feel growing on her arm. The issue would likely raise itself soon enough. "Is all this shit with you today about the tour?" Only three weeks now until she was on the road again, and then almost three months away, with a couple of passes through the area.

"Yeah, mostly. I guess. I don't like it." She didn't respond; they'd been over that one several times, and she'd said her piece.

He was quiet for a minute or two, playing with her hair. "I'm not handling shit well right now. Christmas is hard."

"Care to tell me why?" She'd learned that he was something like a feral animal about personal disclosure. You had to sit and wait and let him come to you. So she just put the question out there like a bowl of scraps and waited.

He leaned over and kissed her lightly, his lips lingering on hers. "I love you, Vivian."

It was the first time he'd said it outright like that. She put her hand on his cheek. "I love you, too, Hap." It was the first time for her, too.

He sat back. "Okay. I want to tell you about last Christmas."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** The 5th String is a real, and completely awesome, music store in Berkeley. A little verisimilitude for your reading pleasure. :)

I'm heading off in the morning and won't be posting another chapter until next Sunday at the earliest. But I'll be back and posting maniacally, as usual, next week. :)

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 11:  
**"Tangled and Dark," Bonnie Raitt

Vivian shifted closer to him, put her hand on his thigh, and waited. He liked her expression now, full of patient attention and love, much better than the naked fear she showed at the bar earlier. That fear, which had taken so long to leave her face, really set him back on his heels. She had nothing to fear from him. She had to know that, right? He would never hurt her.

He was quiet for a long time, trying to organize thoughts he'd spent a year shoving into dark corners in his head. He had never spoken about last Christmas, not even to his brothers. They knew, so he hadn't needed to. And no one else, no one but his woman, had cause to know.

Hap had grown up in a house full of women. His father left while he was still in grade school. Shortly thereafter, his mother had packed up his older sister and him and moved in with her mother. His formative years had been spent in the company of three strong-willed, feisty women. And he'd been their little prince.

Hap never put much mind to it, but since he'd known Vivian, who reminded him a lot of the women in his family, he'd sometimes wondered whether he'd had so little regard for women because his relations had set the bar so high. He had no respect for a woman who whined and cajoled, who would let a man do anything he wanted to her on the slim chance her willingness to be abased might somehow catch his lasting interest. He had no respect for a woman looking to catch a man to take care of her. And all the women he'd come into contact with had fit that sad mold in one way or another. Every one of them. Until this one.

He'd had a lot of years to build up a habit of contempt and control, though, and learning to deal with Vivian's strong personality, learning to deal with loving her, was taking some time. Maybe if he'd realized sooner how much like the women in his family she was, he would have understood sooner the pull she had on him, and would have understood sooner how to act with her. Because those women had had him around their fingers.

But he'd spent this year trying hard not to think about his family.

He realized that he'd been staring at a random point on the worn, wide-plank wood floor for a long time. He looked at her; she was sitting quietly, watching him, waiting. He had to start talking, so he decided to stick with the facts and just get the story out. He looked back down at the floor.

"Last Christmas Day, before dawn, my house was set on fire. It burned to the ground. My family was in it. My mother, my grandmother, my sister, her two sons. They were up from SoCal to see me for Christmas. I'd invited them, made a big stink when my sister thought it was too much hassle to drag everybody north. But I couldn't get away to go south, so I forced the issue. I didn't want to be alone on Christmas. They all died in my house."

Vivian didn't say anything. He stayed looking at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. She pulled him into her arms. He went rigid at first; he didn't want to be held like a fucking baby. But she got right up on him, as close as she could, and kept up the pressure on his head until he just gave up, and he dropped to her shoulder and rested there.

The back of his eyes started to itch, and he pulled away and got up from the sofa. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of Jack, something she'd begun keeping around for him. When he went back, she was still sitting on the sofa, waiting. Her eyes were wide and soft. Pity. He didn't want that. He looked away and drank down the Jack.

"I wasn't there. I was at the clubhouse. There was a big Christmas Eve party—there's always a fucking party. I sent them home alone and stayed to get drunk and mess around with the Crow Eaters. That's what we call the regular women around the club—the groupies, I guess. Anyway, I passed out at the clubhouse. I left my whole family alone on Christmas because I was drunk and dick deep in skank pussy. My 82-year-old grandmother. My mother, sick with cancer. My sister. Her sons. I let my guard down, and my whole family was wiped out. They were only there because I'd thrown a tantrum."

He met her eyes now. "So Christmas is hard."

Vivian stood and came up to him. "Oh, Hap. I don't know what to say." She put her hand on his cheek.

He couldn't stand this fucking pity. He jerked his head away. "Nothing to say. But now you know, and I'm done talking about it."

She hooked a finger through one of his belt loops, but she didn't try to touch him otherwise. "Okay." She pulled a little on the loop. "I do love you."

He turned back to her and put his hand on her neck, under her hair, his thumb on her cheek. "I'm glad. Please don't be afraid of me, Vivian. You have nothing to fear from me. Nothing."

Now she wrapped her arms snugly around his waist and looked up at him. "Okay. Come to bed with me. Let's end this shitty day."

He nodded, and she took hold of his belt loop again and pulled. He let her lead him to the bedroom.

* * *

He stripped and lay down on her bed to watch her undress. That tiny red thing she was wearing was hot as fuck, and he was sure he'd gotten so angry because it had turned him on so much to see her in it. He knew what every man who saw her was thinking. Watching anyone else touching her, even to give her a friendly hug, made him flame with jealousy. And those boots! He'd spent a lot of the time she was on stage transfixed by the snakes coiling out from under the hem of the dress and around her thigh, slithering into her boot. The tops of the boots came up about four inches or so above her knee, and it seemed like miles of exposed thigh before the hem of her dress. So much of her skin—_his_ skin—exposed and on display.

Now, though, alone in the bedroom with her, he could appreciate her outfit, and she was putting on a little private show for him. She put her foot up on a chair and unzipped a boot. Her dress hugged her ass; with her leg raised like that it barely covered the prize between her thighs. She pulled the boot off and did the same with the other. She looked over at him and smiled. He knew she was seeing how fucking turned on he was.

When her boots were off, she took off her jewelry and laid it carefully in the velvet-lined box on her dresser. Then she turned her back to him and slowly pulled the dress up, over her hips, over her back, over her shoulders, and finally over her head. Her hair fell back around her back and shoulders as she slid her arms out of the snug sleeves and tossed the dress aside.

All she was wearing now was a matching set of red satin underwear, thong and bra. She kept her back to him as she removed them, too. Then she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. She seemed to have set what he'd told her aside; he was glad she wasn't making him dwell. Really glad. Grateful.

He was done playing. "Get over here."

She turned, and he drank in the sight of her walking toward him. "You give an awful lot of orders, you know. I think you have a God complex. We should probably get you some help."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her on top of him. "I don't see you walking the other way."

She shrugged and straddled him. "What can I say? Turns out I like a little God in my man." She sat back, her weight and her wet core right on his cock, and gently ran her fingernails over his chest, tracing the full length of the snake that coiled over him. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her. He wrapped his hands around her wrists and slid up her arms, squeezing gently. As he got to her upper arm, he felt her flinch slightly.

He opened his eyes and moved his hands back down, exposing a darkening bruise above her left elbow, marring her beautiful olive skin. The shape of encircling fingers and thumb had emerged. _His_ fingers and thumb. He looked up at her; she returned his look calmly, without expression. He'd lied. He'd already hurt her.

He lightly grazed his fingers over the bruise. She looked at her arm and watched him do it, then turned back. "It's okay, Hap."

"No. It's really fucking not. I'm sorry."

She leaned down so that her face was right above his. "I know. You're forgiven." She kissed him, tracing his lips with her tongue before moving her mouth over his jaw and down his neck. She kissed and nipped her way to one nipple, sucking gently, then over to the other. The feel of her tongue and hands on him made him shiver. He laced his fingers into her hair, his fists on her head. She traced the snake on his chest with her tongue, flicking back and forth as she moved farther down to his belly, then still farther, until she was settled between his thighs and had wrapped her hands around his cock.

He'd almost stopped her; he wanted to apologize again, or attend to her first, or do something to make up for hurting her. But her tongue felt fantastic, and now her hands were wrapped around his cock, and she was drawing him into her mouth. He groaned and lifted his hips off the bed, releasing his hold in her hair.

She sucked him hard and deep, over and over, until he had the comforter gathered in huge fistfuls and his whole body was tense and rigid as a board. Then she released him, sat up, and scooted forward to straddle him, holding him steady with her hand as she settled down on him. She slid slowly down, her muscles clenching as she went.

She shook her ass a little, back and forth, side to side, as she landed on his thighs, and he grabbed her hips and surged up into her with a grunt. She put her hands on his pecs and leaned into him. Then she began to move, rhythmically flexing and rocking, driving him into her. Slowly, at first, sliding inch by inch. She squeezed her muscles around him, making him groan, and whispered, "I love how your cock fills me so full. You reach so deep." Until Vivian, he didn't believe sex talk could be hot. He'd found it annoying, and he'd stifled many a yappy mouth over the years. But listening to her narrate their lovemaking, in that silky alto of hers, was becoming one of his favorite things.

She sped up, faster and faster, until she was bouncing on him, making little gaspy humming sounds. He felt the need growing in his gut, but he mastered it. He needed to get her going, though. He sat up and flipped them over, taking control. He slid his hands under her ass, lifting her hips and clutching her tight to him, thrusting into her from his knees, as hard and deep and fast as he could go. "Fuck, Hap! Oh, fuck! Lord, yes, yes, yes!" She wrapped her hands around his forearms as she came, her nails digging in, going through the skin. He pounded into her until the pressure exploded in him, and he dropped his head back and roared.

He pulled out and collapsed at her side, his hand resting between her legs, his thumb gently rubbing her strip of dark hair. "Christ," he muttered, out of breath.

"Mmmm. Well said." Rolling to her side and taking his hand in hers, she scooted back against him. She tucked her head under his chin and laced her fingers with his. She yawned, moaning sweetly as it ended.

He kissed her head and settled in.

He didn't dream.

* * *

He woke after a dreamless night to find Vivian propped on her elbow, watching him. He blinked his sleep away and said, "Hey. You okay?"

She leaned over and put her chin on his chest, still looking at him. "I'm great. You were calm all night. That's a first."

He chuckled. "All night? You watched me all night?"

"No, but . . . whatever. I was just glad to see you sleep easy."

He found it unsettling that she knew he didn't sleep easy, to be that exposed to someone else. But he didn't press the point. He pushed the pillows up so he could lean on the headboard, then pulled her in to settle on his chest. He wound his fingers through the long strands of her hair, and they were quiet for a while.

"Hap, can I ask you a weird question?"

"Ask. Might not answer." But his curiosity was piqued, definitely.

"I'm curious about what you do." She said it softly.

Big, loud warning bells started clanging in his head. "I told you what I do."

"I mean what you _do_ when you do what you do. If that made any sense at all and wasn't just scat."

He sat up and shrugged her off his chest. "I understand what you mean, but it doesn't make any sense. Why would you want to know shit like that, Vivian?"

She sat upright and looked him in the eye. "I don't want to know the gory parts, Hap. I want to understand. You say you're an enforcer, an assassin, and an interrogator. I take that to mean that you're the guy they go to when they need someone hurt, killed, or tortured. Am I wrong?"

Christ, this woman. He glared at her, but she wasn't going to blink first. Fuck. "You're not wrong."

She nodded. "Okay. Why would the Sons need you to do those things? I'm not asking for specifics. Not trying to nose in where I don't belong. But hypothetically."

He reminded himself that it was better for her to know what she was getting into. He reminded himself that she was strong and savvy. And stubborn. He sighed heavily. "_Hypothetically_, it's usually retaliation. We don't let hurts go unanswered, and we answer loudly. Sometimes, we need information, to protect ourselves. Sometimes it's both."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes, we need information, but we're getting it from somebody who's hurt us. That guy's not going anywhere or getting off easier, no matter what he spills."

"So you don't kill everybody you interrogate?"

This itself was starting to feel like an interrogation, but he decided to let it play out for awhile. "Not without cause. Never without cause." That was still true, anyway. He went on. "When it's a straight interrogation, it's about doing the least amount of damage or hurt I can until I find their breaking point. When it's about retaliation and it's not just a hit, when I'm asked to use my skills, then it's about causing the most amount of pain for the longest amount of time. For people who've really hurt us. When it's both, it's about leaving the impression that the pain will end if they talk."

He didn't like how wide her eyes were getting. "Vivian, you asked me these questions. Don't freak out on me now. My world is full of brutal men, and a lot of them don't live by the kind of code we live by. If we're perceived as weak, everyone around us is at risk. To be perceived as strong, you have to be willing to do scary shit. The scary shit is my job."

She'd dropped her eyes to the bed; he lifted her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. "Can you deal with that?"

Putting her hand around his, she said, "Yeah. Yes. I mean, I can't say I ever thought shit like this would be part of my life, but I'm adjusting. But I'm just thinking—what if _you_ get taken? What's _your_ breaking point?"

He released her chin and took her hand. "I don't have one."

"That sounds like cocky bullshit."

"No. Nobody like me has a breaking point. We know the game too well. I'm a soldier, Vivian. The only time I know anything worth knowing is after it's too late to be useful for anybody else. I'm not an interrogation target. Anybody comes for me, they're after retaliation, for something I did to one of theirs. And then there's nothing I could say or do that would affect the outcome in any way. They'll want to make me hurt as much as they can before they kill me, no matter what. Breaking wouldn't help. So no point. Then it's just a matter of pride, will, and endurance. I have a lot of it."

She smiled. "Well, that last part I already knew. But, Lord, Hap. _That's_ what's scary. What could happen to you."

He pulled her close. "I'm smart and I'm careful, honey. Nothing to worry about."

* * *

It was Christmas Eve. Later, after their awkward talk and some time spent shaking off the awkward, Vivian made breakfast, and then they tidied up the apartment together. She walked around naked until he tossed his t-shirt at her and made her put it on, so he could get some room inside his jeans. Woman was a fucking nudist.

Hap changed her linens and made her bed, fluffing up her pillows and making it look nice for her. She teased him for his neatnik ways, but he knew she liked it, too. She was no slob herself, though she was more tolerant of clutter than he was. She was forever throwing her clothes over the back of a chair, and he was forever hanging them up.

He came into the living room to see her taking little clear glass ornaments off the Christmas tree she'd put up. "What're you doing?"

She turned at his voice. "I'm taking it down. We don't need a Christmas. Let's just have it be a regular day together."

"This about what I told you?" He didn't want her making a fuss about that.

"It's not a day you should have to deal with festive shit, Hap. Let's just not. It's okay. All I want is to be with you, anyway."

He took the ornament, a sparkly blue glass ball, out of her hand and hung it back on the tree. "I said it was hard; I didn't say I didn't want it. I have plans for you. I want to have Christmas with you." He kissed her.

"You sure?"

"Positive. In fact, you need to get dressed. I want to take you somewhere." She gave him a curious look, then grinned and went off to dress.

When they came out onto the street, she automatically turned toward his bike, but he caught her hand and pulled her in the opposite direction. "We can walk."

She stopped and put her hands on her hips. "There's someplace in _Berkeley_ you want to go? You? I think I might have a stroke."

"That smart mouth's gonna get you in trouble, woman. Move it. It's a few blocks."

When he stopped at the corner of Adeline and Essex, in front of The 5th String, she looked at him. "What's your angle here, Hap?"

"No angle. I know you like it here. I thought you'd like to spend some time."

"You're going to just sit in a music store while I fondle guitars? That's how you want to spend your Christmas Eve?"

"Something like that. Let's go in."

She got up on her tiptoes and kissed him, then opened the door and went into the shop.

He'd come in here with her once before, so he knew she had a little ritual, which was to wander around, running her hands over the lacquered wood of all the stringed instruments on display. Then, on her second circuit around the shop, she'd select one to take down and play. Then another, and another. And so on. She was known to the shopkeepers, so she could play anything she wanted. Left to her own devices, Hap thought she could easily spend the whole day in here.

He let her make her first pass. This time, she lingered over a guitar that looked a lot like the one she'd lost. A little plainer, but otherwise similar. Hap didn't know much about guitars, but he was learning a little something just by watching and listening to Vivian. He could tell the difference between a dreadnought and a classical guitar now. He knew what a capo was. He knew the difference between a Stratocaster and a Telecaster. Shit like that.

He walked up behind her and said, "When you do your second pass, think about which one you want to take home with you. Whichever one you want."

She turned around, her mouth open. "What?"

"You heard me. Merry Christmas. I know I can't replace the one you lost, but you can have a new one that might be special, too. That much I can do."

"My God, Hap. That's unbelievably sweet. I mean, my _God_. But these are expensive guitars. Way above your pay grade."

"You don't know that." He was using the figure she'd told him her Martin had been worth as a benchmark. That seemed plenty fucking steep. He hoped that hadn't been a moderately priced model.

"Hap, we're talking thousands of dollars. You think twice about dropping 50 bucks for dinner. And then you calculate the tip to the penny."

Fucking smartass! "You're giving me shit right now? Really?" He had imagined her getting all fluttery and grateful, with tears and kisses and maybe violins playing in the background or something. He'd failed to factor Vivian in, apparently.

She had the class to look ashamed, anyway. "I'm sorry. I'm so touched, Hap. Just the offer is beautiful enough. But you don't know what you're getting into. That guitar over there?" She pointed to one displayed on a high shelf, a light shining on it like a piece of art. "That's $100,000."

Okay, that was more than he was ready for. Under his breath, his said, "Well, not that one. I only brought 20K with me."

Her jaw dropped again. "You have 20 thousand dollars in cash on you?"

"You want to take out an ad, really get the word out? You want to see me have to kill someone today?"

She laughed. "I'm sorry. Again. You've just completely floored me. I don't know what to say."

"You could say thank you, pick out your fucking guitar and stop shitting all over this thing I'm trying to do for you."

She threw her arms around his neck and laid one on him. There. That was better. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her, taking the kiss deep. The thought occurred to him that he could take her into that little corner over there . . ..

She pulled away, still in his arms. "I'm sorry. This is the most amazing thing. I can't believe it. But I didn't mean to act like an ungrateful cow. Thank you. I love you. I love you."

"That's better." He set her down. "Now, pick yourself out a guitar." He gave her rear a swat, making her jump.

She took her task seriously, and it took her hours. She whittled her selections down slowly. Hap wasn't bored at all. He loved watching the way she studied each instrument, the care she took playing and tuning and assessing each sound. He even listened to the technical talk between her and the guy working the shop; he was fascinated by her deep knowledge. He understood almost nothing they were talking about. He barely recognized the words. But he still liked listening.

And he loved to hear her sing. Here, in this little shop, testing out these acoustic guitars, she mostly played little folk ditties and ballads. They were sweet and sad, and they sounded like lullabies. A stray image dashed across his head of her singing to their kid. He grabbed it and brought it back before it left his head entirely, and he took a good look. Then he tucked it away for later, when he had some time to think about it.

The Martin that looked so much like the one she'd had was making every cut. She starting playing a wider variety of styles on it, putting it through its blues and rock paces. She played some stuff that sounded a little Spanish or Mexican, too. He thought she might be making a decision, though she kept noodling with it.

Then she started playing "Can the Circle Be Unbroken." He recognized it right away. He remembered his grandmother singing it in a reedy voice when he was small. He hadn't hear it in years, but he'd always thought it was pretty. In Vivian's stronger, deeper voice, it was haunting and lovely.

_I was standing by the window  
On one cold and cloudy day  
And I saw the hearse come rolling  
For to carry my mother away._

She stopped cold as she realized what she was singing. The back of his eyes started to itch fiercely, and he turned away.

"Oh, fuck. Hap, I'm sorry. I didn't think. I'm so sorry."

He took a breath and turned back to her. She looked like she was going to cry. "No. Play it."

"No way. I'm fucking this whole thing up for you. I'm being such an insensitive bitch."

"Don't say that. I want you to play it. For me." He didn't know why, but he really did want her to play it, even knowing how it would hurt.

She gave him a long look. She nodded, and then she started in again. There were tears in her voice.

_Can the circle be unbroken  
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye  
There's a better home a-waiting  
In the sky, Lord, in the sky._

Lord, I told the undertaker  
Undertaker please drive slow  
For this body you are hauling  
Lord I hate to see her go.

Can the circle be unbroken  
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye  
There's a better home a-waiting  
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

_I followed close behind her  
Tried to hold up and be brave  
But I could not hide my sorrow  
When they laid her in the grave_

Can the circle be unbroken  
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye  
There's a better home a-waiting  
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

_Went back home, Lord, my home was lonesome_

_Missed my mother, she was gone  
All my brothers, sisters crying  
What a home so sad and lone_

Can the circle be unbroken  
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye  
There's a better home a-waiting  
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

When she was done, she set the Martin aside and wiped her eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry, Hap. I love you."

He came and knelt at her feet. He put his arms around her waist and laid his head in her lap. She folded over and rested on his back, her arms around him. Cocooned in her like that, he closed his eyes.

In the end, she chose the Martin.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **I'm back! Well, I'm at the airport on the way back, but I couldn't wait any longer—I missed you guys! And many thanks for the new faves and follows!

I feel kinda guilty dropping this little chap as my first update in almost a week. I don't let cliffies hang too long, just so you know. There'll be another update tomorrow—probably early. :)

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. I claim the rest.

* * *

**CHAPTER 12:  
**"I Can't Quit You, Baby," John Lee Hooker

Things had been hectic since New Year's. They were practicing almost nonstop, getting ready to go out on the road again. They were starting to get feelers from some indie labels, and Dex and Viv were taking on the preliminary discussions. Viv thought they really needed someone who understood contract law—not to mention the business side of making music—better than they did, but they didn't know anyone, they didn't trust just anyone, and they couldn't afford anyone. So they were trying to educate themselves, too.

It was pretty fucking exciting, though—the idea of making an actual album, having an actual label. They just wanted to do it right, not get taken advantage of. And they didn't want anyone to force them into situations they didn't want, so they had to be careful about contracts. It was a lot to think about, and it made her stomach sour.

Viv was trying to see Hap as much as she could, too. The closer the start date for the tour came, the crankier he got. Her man's name was particularly ironic these days. Seemed like the only time he was relaxed was when they were in bed. So she did what she could to keep him there.

Only a few days before the tour started, Hap had been away on Sons business. Knowing what his business was, she didn't ask for specifics. But she'd barely even talked to him on the phone. Earlier in the day, though, he'd called to tell her he was back and would be coming to her to spend the last days with her. She'd immediately gone out to stock the kitchen before practice. She intended to keep him indoors and naked the whole fucking time.

When she got back to the building after practice, the front door was propped. Adie, an upstairs neighbor, was getting new furniture today. Viv just hoped it was closed and locked again before Hap got here, because propping the door made him nuts, and she didn't feature getting yet another emphatic lecture about safety tonight. Juggling her guitars, she picked up her mail, and walked up the stairs.

She met Adie coming down. "Hey, Viv. You didn't see a truck on the street anywhere, did you? They were supposed to be here already."

Viv hadn't. "Nope—sorry, Ade. I wasn't really looking, though. Don't sweat it, baby; delivery people aren't famous for being prompt."

"You don't mind the door propped?"

"Not me, not for awhile. It's cool. But as soon as they're done, right?"

"Totally. Thanks, Viv. You rock!"

"Every chance I get, baby." She unlocked the door to her apartment and went inside, kicking the door closed behind her. She walked straight to the music room to rid herself of her burdens.

She put some music on and spent the afternoon and early part of the evening getting ready for Hap. She took a long bath, with an extra squirt of lavender and honey bubbles, and then fluffed the apartment. When Hap called to tell her that he was on his way to her, she put together a chicken casserole—his food tastes were simple. She put it in the oven and set the table, making it a little fancy. Then she went back to her bedroom to get dressed.

She was just hooking her new purple lace bra when she heard the front door open and close. Jesus, he must have ridden balls to the wall the whole way. She chuckled to herself. She liked the idea that he was that impatient to get to her. Though, yeah, she was going to get yelled at about the propped door, which Adie had apparently forgotten about. Oh well. "I'm back here, Hap," she called. She slid into the little underwear that matched the bra, knowing full well that they'd be off her again in a matter of seconds.

When she turned to the door, Benji was standing there. Or a ghoul that had once looked something like him.

She didn't scream. She probably should have; maybe things would have gone easier. Instead, though, she gasped and jumped about ten feet in the air. "Jesus Christ, Benji! What the fuck are you doing here?" She grabbed her robe off the back of her bedroom chair and shoved her arms into it.

"Fucking filthy cheating cunt." He said it low, and then he said nothing else. He came at her. She saw something glinting in his hand, and then she felt a sharp, spiky blow to her shoulder, and her left arm went hot and numb. She backed up and tried to put distance and furniture or something between them. Then she tried to scream, but it was like her throat was paralyzed. She couldn't make sound. Realizing that she was cornering herself, she tried to run past him, but he grabbed her and threw her to the floor. She felt a bright pain in her right arm now, too. She hit her head hard on something and saw stars. She felt a couple more spiky blows, to her leg and her stomach, and then she just went away.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Little smidgelet of a spoiler in here for my story Make Me Right (and, I guess, a teensy teaser for its sequel).

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 13:  
**"Pride and Joy," Stevie Ray Vaughn

"Goddammit, Vivian. God DAMMIT."

He walked through the front door and kicked the fucking prop out from under it. What was the fucking point of having a security system if people were constantly leaving the door open for any asshole off this freaky-ass street to just wander in? He just kept on her about it, and she just kept blowing him off. Christ, he needed to figure out how to get her to Charming. He was about ready to truss her up and haul her off.

He knew it could have been one of her neighbors, but they always asked, and she always said, "Sure, baby. No problem, baby. Go right ahead, baby. Let's let all the fucking nutcases right on in, baby."

Goddammit. He'd like to turn her over his fucking knee.

He turned the corner in the staircase and saw the door to her apartment standing open. His rant died in his head. That was something she only did when she buzzed someone in. Something was wrong. He pulled his knife and released the blade; he'd left his fucking gun locked in his saddle bag. He walked through her door.

He smelled something cooking. "Vivian?" He said it quietly, trying to get a read on the room. Everything looked normal. He noticed that she'd set the table for dinner. He said it louder, "Vivian!" She wouldn't have left with the oven on; she had an OCD thing about fire. He went into the kitchen and turned the oven off. Fuck. He checked the bathroom, the other rooms; empty. Oh, fuck. He went to her bedroom.

She was lying on her side on the floor. Jesus, she was bleeding everywhere. Her white robe was covered with big red blooms, and there was a puddle growing around her. He closed his knife and dived to her side.

"Fuck! Vivian—Vivian! Fuck, honey, come on!" He checked for a pulse and found one, still fairly strong; he felt a surge of relief. "Okay, honey. Come on." He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. When he got an ambulance headed to her, he stood and emptied his pockets, putting his switchblade and a couple of other not-so-kosher items in the back of her bottom dresser drawer. Nothing that was illegal for her to have, just for him to be carrying. Last thing he needed was to get his parole violated and land back in Stockton. Only a few weeks of parole left, and he needed to be out with her.

He also had something he needed to take care of, because he knew exactly who the fuck did this.

He went back to sit on the floor with her and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her. "Come on, honey. Wake up. Stay with me." His hand was supporting her head, and he could feel a big lump growing back there. He opened her robe. She'd been stabbed at least five times, in the shoulder, the stomach, the leg, the arm. He was most worried about the stomach wounds. There were two, and they did not look good. He closed her robe and tried to staunch the bleeding with the sodden fabric. She was getting paler as he held her. He checked her pulse again—noticeably weaker. _Fuck, hurry up. Hurry up._

* * *

The EMTs got her stable and took her away, but the cops wouldn't let him go with her. They had a lot of questions, and he could see where this was going. He was their chief suspect. They were keeping him from her, and his eye was pulsing deep red. He was rigid with the effort of keeping control, but nothing he said or did was backing these motherfuckers off. And they wouldn't even tell him where Vivian had been taken. Finally, he slipped.

"I DIDN'T FUCKING HURT HER! I DIDN'T FUCKING HURT HER, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

He didn't touch anybody. He'd risen from the chair they'd shoved him into while they asked their stupid questions, and he was screaming in a cop's face, towering over the donut-fed asshole.

And then he was on the floor, a knee in his kidney, his arms being yanked behind his back. He didn't listen to what they were saying anymore. It didn't fucking matter. He had it memorized.

* * *

When they let him make a phone call, he called Juice. "Brother, I need your help right now. I need protection for somebody—for Vivian, remember?—but I don't know where she is. She was stabbed at her place, and they took her off in an ambulance. I saw an AMR patch on the EMTs. I need protection for her, and I need a lawyer for me. I'm at the Berkeley station. They think I did it. They're lookin' to violate my parole."

He said it in a rush. When he was done, Juice said, "I'm on it, bro. We got it. And we'll get you."

* * *

They dicked him around for hours, and he thought he was going to stroke out from the effort of staying calm, but Ally Lowen, their lawyer, worked her mumbo jumbo and got him out. When he got to the hospital and found Vivian's room, Bobby and Tig were sitting outside her door.

"Thank you, brothers. Thank you. What do we know?"

Tig and Bobby looked at each other. Tig said, "There's not much we do know, man. About you or her, looks like."

Bobby huffed and pushed Tig back. "What the asshole means is that they won't tell us anything. We ain't family. And they don't know us here. It's way past visiting hours, so they had to be persuaded to let us sit out here. All we know is what we can see. She was in surgery for a long time. She's unconscious. All we know. Sorry, brother."

Hap walked to the door and looked in the window. Christ. All those tubes and machines. He put his head against the glass. "I'm going in. Fuck 'em. See them try to get me out."

Bobby put his hand on Hap's shoulder. "You just spent most of the night in lockup, brother. You don't want to go back. Let's do this smart." He paused, then, "She your old lady, Hap?"

"I don't know. Yeah."

Tig whistled. "Son of a fucking bitch. The Killa all tied up in pussy knots."

Happy turned sharply and put Tig on the wall. They glared at each other for a long moment, then Tig raised his hands. He nodded and said, "Okay, man. Okay." Hap released him.

He looked at Bobby. "Call Lowen, see what she can do? I don't want her in that room by herself. I want to be with her when she fucking wakes up." Bobby nodded and opened his phone.

He opened his own prepay and dialed Juice again. He was probably waking him up, but he didn't care. Then again, since his old lady had moved away, Juice was mainly staying at the clubhouse anyway. "Juice. I need two things. I need a number for Dex Landler, and I need a 20 on a meth head named Benji. Used to be the lead guitar for her band. That's all I got. I need both as fast as you can get it."

Juice had Dex's number before they got off the phone. He promised to call back soon with intel on the tweaker.

* * *

Dex was there within half an hour. It turned out that Vivian had given Dex her power of attorney or whatever, and had effectively made him her next of kin. Shortly after he got there, paperwork in hand, despite the fact that it was so late at night it was morning, and despite the fact that Dex couldn't stand him, Hap was cleared to be with her, and he knew more about how she was doing.

Which wasn't very good. She had a bad concussion and multiple stab wounds. She had a lot of damage to her stomach and intestines, and they were concerned about infection. He sat at her bedside and took her hand in his, and he waited for her to wake up.

Fuck, he was pissed at her. The tweaker should have been dead weeks ago. He couldn't believe she'd talked him out of taking care of that waste of flesh. He couldn't believe he'd let her. And she'd left the front door propped. Goddammit.

Enough. She was moving to Charming. If he had to tie her up to get her there, she was moving in with him. If he had to lock her in a room, she was staying with him. Fuck this shit.

* * *

She woke late that morning. He was sitting there, watching her. He'd dozed a little, and he was slouched in the chair, his arms crossed on his chest. Dex had left earlier to deal with telling Sean and Oscar and cancelling the tour. She opened her eyes and looked right at him. She didn't seem to need to get her bearings. Or she wasn't conscious enough to know she needed to get her bearings.

He picked up her hand and kissed her palm. Her hand was cold and bluish. "Hey. How you feeling?"

She didn't respond. "Vivian? Honey?"

Some kind of alarm started going off, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her lids fluttered closed. Suddenly, nurses and then doctors were in the room, shoving him back out of their way. He tried to pay attention to what they were saying, but it was barely English. Her heart rate was too high. Her temperature was too high. Her blood pressure was too low. He heard somebody say "septic shock." That was the thing they were worried about. The deadly thing. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

A little nurse in a pink smock with stupid fucking bears or some shit all over it grabbed his arm and yanked. He barely caught himself before he knocked her across the room.

"You have to leave." She had the sense to look intimidated, but her voice was strong.

"I'm not fucking going anywhere. What's going on?"

"You're in our way. You want us to help her, you have to get out."

He glowered. He looked at the chaos around Vivian. He watched as people danced around him, and understood that he really was in their way, slowing them down. He shook off the little bitch in front of him and stalked into the hallway, going no farther than the other side of the door. He watched through the glass.

Then they were rolling her out of the room. No one would say anything to him, but he followed until they passed through the doors to Surgery, and he was locked out.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

When they brought her out a couple of hours later, they moved her into the ICU. They let him back with her, but they made him wear a papery yellow gown and a mask. They had her on oxygen—a full mask, but thankfully not a respirator—and there were even more machines around her. She was so pale, except for bright red roses on her cheeks.

_Fuck, honey. Don't you fucking go anywhere._

* * *

It was almost another full day before she woke up again. His anger had long since been eaten up by worry. This time, though, she was truly awake. He knew it when her eyes really saw him. He pulled his mask down and smiled at her. "Hello there."

She spoke, but the mask muffled it. She fussed and reached to pull it off. He gently pulled her hands away. "I think you need that, honey."

She wrinkled her brow at him and kept fussing, so he helped her, lifting it over her head and laying it on the pillow next to her. "Just for a minute."

"I'm sorry." Her voice was rough and weak. "I'm sorry, Hap."

The day before, he would probably have lectured her and demanded such an apology. But that was before. Now, he kissed her forehead. Cooler. "Hush. I'm just glad to see you."

He scooted close and held her hand against his face. It wasn't so clammy or blue now. "The tweaker, right? Benji?"

She nodded. She looked chastened.

"Vivian, I'm not going to yell at you. But you know how I feel. And you know what I'm gonna do. I don't care what you say, I'm doin' it. When the cops talk to you, say you don't remember, got it?"

She nodded again.

"I'm not letting him off easy, not after this. It's gonna go hard."

Another nod.

He wasn't expecting that. He hadn't expected her to fuss now about his plans to end the tweaker, but he didn't expect that she would acquiesce to his intent to make it hurt, make it last. He'd told her mainly because he wanted her to really understand. He was telling her now, so soon, because he'd been thinking about it for hours—days, now—and it was top of mind. He should probably wait until she was stronger, but fuck it. As soon as she was out of the woods, he was going for the fucker.

Another thing that was top of mind. "When they let you out of here, you're moving to Charming, with me. Notice that wasn't a question."

She held his gaze for a long, still moment. Her eyes filled with tears; he didn't know what to make of that. But then she whispered, "Do you love me?"

How could she wonder? "Fuck, Vivian. Yeah, I love you."

"You won't hurt me?"

Oh, Christ. He put his hand on her cheek, running his thumb over the scar the tweaker had left there. He was going to kill that motherfucker a whole fucking lot. "I will never hurt you, Vivian. Never. I will keep you safe."

"Okay. I'll go." She closed her eyes. He thought her color was looking a little wrong again, so he put the mask back over her face. She gave him a fussy look, but didn't fight it. She slept, and he sat with her.

The tweaker was going to die hard and bloody.

* * *

Hap left Phil watching over Vivian, and he, Tig, and Juice went into a rundown apartment building in Oakland. Tig was his natural partner, but Hap was surprised Juice was with them. This kind of job was really not the boy's thing. But he'd been resolute, saying, "I owe you, Hap. I want to help, if I can." He was a good boy. A good Son. He'd been getting some real seasoning over the past year or so. After what they'd done together to the assholes who'd raped Juice's old lady, Hap knew the boy had the stomach for the hard work.

They found the tweaker, asleep or passed out, in his apartment on one of the higher floors. Hap kicked the door down without bothering to knock. Asshole was naked, facedown diagonally across his bed—a mattress on the floor. Christ, what a pathetic bag of flesh. He reached down and grabbed a handful of his filthy hair, dragging him back off the mattress and throwing him into a corner.

The tweaker woke shrieking. Tig clocked him with a hard jab to his left eye. They heard the crunch when the orbital bone broke, and the tweaker stopped screaming and mewled instead. He put his hands to his broken face, and Hap saw that there was blood on his hands, under and around his nails and in the creases of his fingers. Fucking Christ. He still had her blood on him. Was all he could do not to rip him apart right here.

"What is this, man? What do you want?"

Hap squatted down and got right in his face. "Recognize me, asshole?"

He didn't. Not at first. When he did, he had the presence of mind to know fear. His mewling increased to a keening.

Tig kicked him in the gut and he doubled over. "Shut your rotting mouth, motherfucker. More you yowl, harder this will go." The tweaker shut up, more or less.

That was a lie. It was going to go as hard as Hap could make it. But quieter was better, at least until they got the asshole out of this room. It was broad daylight. He needed to come out on his own power.

"Get dressed. You're coming with us. Question you need to keep in mind is whether you'll be coming back."

He wouldn't. But until they had him where they could work him, he needed to think he might.

* * *

They took him all the way back to Charming, to the derelict cabin Hap used for this work, deep in Oswald's woods. When they were done, Hap cleaned up the mess in the cabin while Tig and Juice carried the body back to the van. They'd dump him back in the city, near his apartment. Hap had caused him real, enduring pain, and the fuck had screamed until his throat bled, but Hap had been careful not to do anything that would cause notice. Considering the life the tweaker had led, there was a lot Hap could do that would seem unremarkable when the cops came up with yet another junkie's body. When it was time for killing, he'd done it with an overdose of crank.

Rid of the tweaker for good, he went back to the hospital and sat with Vivian, who was sleeping quietly.

* * *

She recovered steadily after that one scare, and in just over a week she was ready to be discharged.

In addition to dealing with the tweaker, Hap also spent some time making his rental something she could stay in. In the months—the year, now—he'd lived there, he hadn't bothered putting anything in it but bare necessities. Since his house and family had burned, he hadn't wanted any kind of possessions, any kind of connection, anything to give a shit about. Nothing but the Sons.

Vivian had blown that right out of the sky.

He collected furniture and her clothes and shit from her apartment and filled the rental with it. He also locked away the tools of his work. She didn't need to see any of that; she knew enough.

She was loath to lose the apartment that had been in her family for decades, so they worked out a compromise, and arranged for Oscar, who needed a place anyway, to sublet it. Hap wasn't thrilled about giving that fucker any kind of help, but he wasn't about to get in the way of a simple solution that got Vivian to him.

He had no plans to settle her in the piece of shit rental long term, though. He asked Gemma for help finding a proper house in Charming, and she was all over it. He didn't much care for himself. He brought Gem to Berkeley one day to show her Vivian's style and set her loose with a Charming realtor. By the time she was strong enough to enjoy it, Hap wanted his old lady in her own house.

She was his old lady. Never thought he'd have one, never wanted one. Now he couldn't imagine not. He wanted to get her healthy enough to take his mark. That was going to be awhile, considering the shock her immune system had undergone, but he was designing it in the meantime.

The loss of the tour was a big financial hit for Leather. The Sons were into their second very good year, and Hap was not a profligate spender, so Vivian would be okay, even with her medical bills. But she was fretting a lot about the rest of the band—"her boys," as she so irritatingly called them. Her worry was mitigated, though, by the action they were getting with labels. Dex had carried on meetings without her, consulting with her at her bedside every day, and they were close to signing a deal with a smaller label. A small deal, one album with an option for another, but that was their call, not the label's. They were leery about being indentured to outside interests.

Hap sat back and watched all that with growing satisfaction. The thought occurred to him—only once, and then he shoved it away in disgust—that he almost owed the tweaker. Because he'd hurt her, they weren't going on tour. Because they weren't on tour, they'd been able to broker a record deal that would keep her close for months. And she was moving in with him.

Next, to knock her up and keep her home. First, though, he had to get her healed and healthy and strong. With all the damage the tweaker did to her belly, he couldn't imagine putting a baby in there right away was a great idea.

But soon.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **What I did while I was away, alone in my hotel room every evening, without internet and not a big fan of TV with commercials, was write. Having banked several chapters, I can post daily for awhile.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 14:  
**"Love Struck Baby," Stevie Ray Vaughn

After a month out of the hospital, Viv was starting to feel more like herself. She was mostly able to eat normally again, or something approaching normally. Benji had mangled her digestive system, and she wondered if she'd ever get to enjoy spicy or rich food again. She'd lost a lot of weight. She'd had five to spare at most, five that gave her the pop in her strut, so now she looked like Benji's sicker sister.

Benji. _Good fucking riddance, you piece of rancid gorilla shit_. She'd bled out all sympathy for him on her bedroom floor. She was sure Hap had made him hurt. She wasn't interested in the details, though. She was just glad he was gone.

Her collection of scars had grown exponentially. Medusa had been marred, one serpentine lock on her thigh bisected. A long seam on her right arm. Two nasty, twisted coils, connected by a surgical scar, on her stomach, and a straight line, about two inches long, right under her collarbone, near her shoulder on the left side. She was going to have to make some modifications to her performance wardrobe, she thought.

Hap had been a fucking mother hen all month, monitoring her food intake, her medications, her sleep schedule, her fucking bathroom breaks. He'd become a cross between Florence Nightingale and Nurse Ratched.

She supposed that starting out living with him like this was a good way to get all the irritants out in the open. Because he was irritating the fuck out of her on a regular basis. Damn, he was a bossy son of a bitch. If the doctor gave an instruction, then Hap was all over it, making sure she toed the line.

At first, he never left her. Ever. He had the Sons Prospects bring in groceries or run errands for them, and he stayed with her 24/7. And at first, when she wasn't so good on her feet, she'd liked it. But then she was able to move around pretty well, and he was still following around after her, making sure she didn't do something dangerous like bend over or eat an orange.

So, they'd had it out. And, to his credit, he was trying to mellow out. Hah. Happy Lowman mellowing out. Funny. She'd need to bake him some special brownies—a _lot_ of special brownies—to get that to happen. But he was trying, anyway. And she guessed, when he wasn't actually asking whether she'd taken a dump today, his care was kind of cute and sweet.

In small doses.

Today, she was gloriously alone for a few hours, while Hap was at the clubhouse, at what she now knew they called "church,"—what amounted to a Sons business meeting. Then he was running some errands, picking up her med refills and such. She'd made him release the Prospects from their onerous duties. She also got a kick out of sending the badass biker out for sundries.

She wandered around his little house that barely looked lived in, other than her things that he'd brought over. There was almost no sign of Hap in the house. The only exception was the photorealistic painting of him on his Dyna, done by a friend of hers, that she'd given him for Christmas, which he'd propped on the mantel over the fake fireplace. And the fact that the whole house was neat as a pin, everything symmetrical. That was Hap through and through. But it would be impossible to know he'd lived there for a year. She knew that he was looking for a house to buy, but so far he'd kept her out of that loop. That was another of the irritating things he'd been doing. Mr. Take-Charge Manly Man.

She still wasn't completely sure how she'd come to be living in Charming, with Happy. She knew the steps that had occurred—he'd asked her, she'd said yes, he moved her stuff, she came here—but she wasn't quite sure why she'd said yes, or why she was okay with the decision. Everything had happened fast. After years of living a life that was full and fascinating but predictably scheduled, she had turned the whole thing on its ear.

And he hadn't _asked_ her to move in with him. He'd told her. That should have pissed her off righteously. But it didn't. Even when she'd had time to think about the move, even though she'd been scared about the change—she was still scared, really—she didn't want to change her mind. She wanted to live with him. In shitty little Charming. Which was crazy.

Hap said all the time that he didn't understand the way he felt or acted with her. Well, she knew the feeling. She felt a weird kind of impatience these days that she didn't understand—a sense that she wanted something to happen, a feeling like "get on with it already." She hadn't pinned that down yet, but it was wrapped up somehow with Hap. It puzzled her.

She'd spent the day playing her new Martin and writing. They had a recording deal in the works, and she was revising some of her old stuff and seeing if she couldn't add something new to the mix. The boys were driving to Charming in a couple of days to sit down and start planning what material to bring to the label, and they were hoping to start rehearsals in a few weeks.

She heard Hap pull his bike into the garage, and she set her guitar and notebooks aside. He came in through the kitchen and unloaded a bag of groceries. Then he hung up his kutte and came into the living room, carrying a bag from the pharmacy. "Hey, honey."

"Hi. How was 'church'?" He gave her an annoyed look at the audible quotation marks.

"Looks like you're going to be free of me for a couple days, starting tomorrow. You okay with that?"

Had someone asked her that hypothetically, she would have resoundingly said, _yes, please give me some brief respite of privacy!_ But now, what she felt was panic. Unbelievable.

Her distress was clear, because he sat down with her and said, "I'm sorry, Vivian; I have to do this. I can have Rat stay with you if you don't want to be alone. Or I can ask Gemma or Tara to check in on you."

She'd met all of the Sons, and Gemma and Tara, mother and wife of the club president, during the weeks since Benji. They weren't a bad lot, all in all. Not much different from the types that frequented the bars Leather played. Rough and real—her kind of people, really.

"No, I'll be okay. The boys are coming out to start work on material to record. I can ask them to stay over, if I'm feeling weird."

"No." That's it, just "no." Like he was laying down the law. Irritating.

"Jesus, Hap. Is this the Oscar thing again? Because that tune is burnt."

"I told you I don't trust him. I don't want him sleeping where you're sleeping. Give me this, Vivian. It's important to me."

She sighed. "Fine. You're being both an asshole and an idiot, but fine. I'll be okay on my own for two days."

Unaffected by her insults, he settled back on the couch and pulled her legs into his lap. "I think Gemma's going to want to take you out, anyway. She has some houses she wants you to see."

She sat up, ignoring the little twinge in her belly that would still not go the hell away. "What? When?"

"Next day or so. I'll tell her to call first, so she doesn't walk in on your band stuff."

There were two interesting pieces of information there. First, he was including her in the house thing. Good boy. Second, he was encouraging her to go out of this house when he wasn't even going to be in the same town. Wow. Maybe he was doing some mellowing after all.

"I thought you were handling the house thing without me."

"I don't want to buy a house you don't like. I don't much care, long as you're happy and it's not a piece of shit. I asked Gemma to help because you've been sick, and you don't know Charming. But she's got some to show you now." He started to massage her foot. He was excellent at just about everything that had anything to do with putting his hands on her body, and she leaned back and closed her eyes.

All of her irritations and frustrations with him receded, while she lay on him, feeling his strong hands gently kneading her foot, thinking about buying a house with him, making a life with him. "You're okay, Happy Lowman. You're a bossy pain in the ass, but you're okay."

After a few minutes, she reached over and grabbed the pharmacy bag; it was time for one of her pills, and she liked to get to it before Nervous Norvis started in with the nagging. She pulled out the meds, but one of the refills was missing. "Hap, my birth control isn't in here. We'll have to go back out. You know, I'll be cleared for takeoff soon, so I don't want to miss a Pill." She slid her foot under his t-shirt and rubbed his belly. "I'm looking forward to taking off." He grunted and grabbed her foot. She could feel him growing under her legs. Heh.

He shifted to face her more directly. "What about going off the Pill?"

There was almost an audible screeching, crashing sound in her head, as every other thought wiped out. "_What_?"

"I'm in this for the long haul. You'll have my ink soon, so you're in, too. I want to make a family with you. I want to put my baby in you."

"Hap, no way. That's crazy."

"Is it? Why?"

She thought about it for a minute. She wanted kids, in a "someday" sort of way. Anytime the thought of having kids with Hap had occurred to her—and it had—she'd set it aside, never getting much further than, _Damn, we'd make pretty babies_. And they would, too. They shared dark, almost black eyes, black hair (though Hap's was mostly grey now), olive skin. They'd known each other for almost a year now, but they'd only really been a solid couple for a few months. He was still adjusting to the life partner gig. So was she, honestly. There was a lot they were still learning about each other. Was he father material? Fuck—was she mother material? But she was 35 years old. He was older. If "someday" was going to happen, it should be sooner rather than later, shouldn't it?

Then that puzzling sense of impatience came on her, stronger than ever. Is _this_ what she was waiting for? She poked at the feeling a little. Lord, was she getting antsy to _nest_? Is that what it was? Where the hell had that come from?

"I don't live a baby-friendly life. I'm gone months at a time. I don't know how I could have a baby and go on tour."

He looked steadily at her. "That's for you to figure out." It was a cagey kind of answer, and she considered him, trying to understand his angle. She felt sure he was working one somehow.

"Vivian, I can see those gears going. I know what you're thinking. Here's what I think. I love you. We're good together. I never wanted any of this, and now it's all I want, and that's because of you. I will be a good father. I will take care of our family. And you will be a fuckin' amazing mother. I want my children to learn from you."

Well, that was sweet and persuasive as hell. He was developing an alarming talent for smooth talk. "Hap, I'm still healing. I don't know if everything is glued back together well enough yet."

He smiled broadly; he sensed victory. She loved what it did to his face when he smiled like that. It exposed his kindness, which is not a word that would otherwise leap to mind to describe him. "We'll talk to your doctor first. But, honey, when he says go, I want to spend a lot of time making sure you get some of me growing in that beautiful belly."

She laughed and shook her head. "Lord, I can't believe I'm saying this, but what the hell. Okay. Put a baby in me."

* * *

Just over a week later, they came out of the doctor's office having gotten the full 'go' sign—for new ink, for sex, even of the baby-making variety, and for whatever else she wanted to do, including, if she dared, spicy food. They had a contract on a house she adored—a little Tudor cottage with three bedrooms, a room off the garage for her music, and a big yard. And Viv was feeling surprisingly great about the turn her life was taking. A year ago—hell, two months ago—she would have laughed in the face of anyone who said she'd be buying a house and looking to get knocked up right now. But something in her had changed.

She figured it was almost dying that changed her perspective. Maybe that's where her sense of impatience came from. She felt a new need to settle a little, build something.

As they were walking to her Corolla, Hap called Gemma, and by the time they got home, a party was in the works. Apparently, there was going to be an audience for her new tattoo. Lovely. But Happy marking his old lady—Happy _having_ an old lady—was something to celebrate, it seemed. Well, no one could ever accuse Viv of being shy, so what the hell.

Hap was inking her. She'd seen his work, and he was really brilliant, so she wasn't worried. He wouldn't tell her what he was going to do, except he was putting it on her upper back. He'd asked her how big he could go, and she'd pointed to Medusa, stretching from just below her shoulder blade to just above her knee, across her back and onto her belly, and asked him if he thought there was a limit. He'd grinned approvingly and asked if she trusted him. She did. So she was getting a huge, permanent surprise tonight.

But right now, he was dragging her through the kitchen and into the bedroom, clearly intending to give her a different kind of huge surprise. He grabbed her and kissed her hard, yanking at the buttons on her shirt and on her jeans. She'd never seen him so eager—or ham-fisted. He was going to ruin this blouse that she liked. So she backed off and took over the disrobing duties, and he attacked his own clothes with the same lack of grace. Fewer buttons to deal with, though.

It had been weeks, and she wanted to take charge. Of all the fascinating things they'd done in the bedroom, they hadn't done one obvious thing, one she liked a lot, actually. So she crawled onto the bed and knelt in the middle, gave her ass a little wag and smiled at him over her shoulder.

She was surprised when he got still. He stopped in the middle of unbuttoning his jeans and was just still for a second. Then he came to the bed and pulled her up. "No," he said.

Now she was shocked—and embarrassed. "Why not?" She turned and sat down, her legs folded under her.

He buttoned his jeans—okay, this was not going the direction she thought it would—and sat on the bed. "I've fucked a lot of women, Vivian. A lot of women. Most of them, I never knew their names. Every one of them, every last one of them, I fucked from behind. I might have played with them first, if I was in that kind of mood, but when I was in them, I wasn't looking at them. I didn't want to see them. I didn't care."

He brushed her hair back from her face and rubbed his thumb over the scar on her cheek. "I always want to see you when I'm inside you." He kissed her gently.

Lord, that gravel voice running over that silver tongue. She felt swoony. She didn't know where it had come from all of a sudden, when her taciturn lover had become Cyrano de Bergerac, but it turned out his tongue was multitalented.

She had a question, though. "Hap, all of the ways we've had sex, that's all new to you? Because you fuckin' rock at it. How's that possible?"

He smiled. "I understand how the human body works, Vivian, and I'm very good at reading body language."

When she realized what he was saying, she started laughing hard. "Are you telling me that your skill at torturing people is what makes you so great at fucking me?"

His smile grew. "Aren't you glad I do what I do?"

"I'm suddenly finding it to be a highly desirable career path, I must say." She put her hands around his face and pulled him toward her for a kiss. They tangled tongues until they were both breathless. Then he pulled back, stood up, and got rid of his jeans.

"Now. Time to make a baby." He crawled over her, flattening her on the bed. He grabbed her knee and pulled her leg around his waist as he pushed into her. She brought up her other leg and linked her ankles on his back. "Oh, fuck, you feel so good," she gasped in a single exhale of breath. "I missed you so much!"

Maybe it was because it had been weeks. Maybe it was because of the talk they'd had. Maybe it was because of what they were trying to do. But their lovemaking was different, somehow, deeper this time. They went slow, kissing deeply, and Viv felt a patient calm, savoring the feel of every ridge and vein of his cock as it slid back and forth in her.

And then slow wasn't enough anymore, and he pulled up from their kiss. Propped on his elbows, he pounded into her as she surged against him. She wasn't quiet, it felt too good to be quiet, but she didn't speak. They held each other's eyes until the pressure was too great in them both, and then Viv arched back as she cried out. She heard Hap's beautiful roar, and his head dropped to her shoulder.

She wondered if they'd started something.

* * *

A few hours later, after a long, lively shower and a lovely ride on his Dyna to the clubhouse, Viv was straddling a chair, leaning over a padded rest, her hair bound up on her head, while Hap inked what she expected would be a crow of some sort into her back. The whole damn club was watching. They kept offering her drinks, which she kept refusing, using her recent digestive trauma as an excuse. So instead they were commending her on her toughness.

It didn't hurt that much, really. Not so lovely over her shoulder blades, but otherwise, mostly just irritating. It was going on for rather a while, though. After a couple of hours, he asked, "You want a break?"

She didn't. She was in the zone by that time and more numb than anything else. "I'm good. If you need a break, though . . ." She knew what his reaction to that would be.

He snorted his derision. Yep. Figured. "I can go as long as you can, honey, you know that."

By the time he was done, the rest of the Sons were well on their way to their night's drunk. But they had the presence of mind to make a fuss over the new tat—which she still had not seen—and over the fact that a woman was wearing Hap's ink. She felt like she'd landed Moby-Dick or something. Then she'd chortled to herself at her little pun. It was rather a large dick she'd landed, after all.

She got up from the chair and adjusted her halter top. Her back was plenty sore, actually, now that it was over. Now she wouldn't have turned down a drink. Maybe they should have started this whole baby-making plan _after_ she'd gotten the big tattoo. Sigh.

He still needed to bandage it for her, but she wanted to see it first, so he took her to the bathroom and held up a hand mirror so she could see her back in the mirror over the sink.

Holy shit.

It was a crow—no surprise there—but it was beautiful, the feathers so detailed they looked like they'd move in a breeze. It spanned most of her upper back, soaring up, its wings over her shoulder blades, almost like angel's wings. In its claws, a traditional tattoo heart, with Hap's name in a banner across it.

"Oh, Hap. It's perfect! It's so perfect. I love it."

He smiled. "Lean forward a little and look again."

She did, and from that angle emerged a smiley face, subtly shaded into the feathers on the crow's breast. "Hap, that's brilliant. How'd you do that?"

"Talent, honey. Pure talent, " he smirked.

"You know, my hair will cover this most of the time. Seems a shame."

"Not to me. I like the idea of my mark touching that amazing hair all day."

Jesus. Everything out of his mouth these days made her want to fuck him on the spot. She put her arms around his neck, ignoring the sting when the abraded skin on her back bunched. "When'd you get so good with words?"

He shrugged. "I'm just sayin' what I feel." He put down the hand mirror and pulled her close.

She kissed him, flicking her tongue gently over his lips. "So, where's _my_ mark goin', mister?"

He grinned against her mouth. "Wherever you want."

"That so? How about right—" she squatted down in front of him, opened his jeans wide, and pulled his cock out.

"Vivian, come on. You gotta be kidding."

Grinning wickedly, loving his evident anxiety, she leaned toward his cock—which was rigid as steel. At the last second, she shifted to the right and licked the skin of his lower abdomen, right at the so-damn-sexy point where the muscle bulged over his hip—"here." He relaxed instantly, and she laughed and looked up at him.

He pulled her up. "You got it. What should it be?"

Yeah, right. "You'll just have to wait and see when it's done. But I tell you what. You can pick the tattooer, long as it isn't you." She pulled his head down for a kiss.

He set her up on the sink and pushed between her legs. She was wearing a denim mini-skirt, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "What would you think if we made our kid in the clubhouse toilet?" He slid his hand up her thigh and under the fabric of her underwear. As he slid his fingers over her wet folds, he growled. The animal noises he made in that husky voice were _such_ a turn-on.

He pushed his fingers into her, and she gasped. "It'd be a story."

"It would that." Holding her underwear aside, he pushed into her. He fucked her fast and hard. She saw him looking at her back in the mirror as he slammed into her. She bit down on the leather over his shoulder when she came, trying to stifle her scream.

When they were done and had rearranged themselves, they stepped out—to a loud and rousing round of applause. So much for stifling.

After that, he bandaged her back and she put a soft denim jacket on for more cover. Then they got to partying.

Even though she stayed sober, she had a great time with the Sons. They were loud and ribald and funny as hell, dishing out all kinds of shit and trash talk. She went into the kitchen to offer to help the women, but Gemma turned her right around. "This is your party, baby. You'll be helping plenty around here, no need to worry about that. Go play."

First impression—she liked Gemma. She seemed a fierce family woman, a tough broad. Take no shit, take no prisoners. From what she could tell so far, Gemma was her kind of chick. Tara was more reserved, but clearly tough as nails herself. Viv thought she could find a place in this family.

The women hanging around? The Crow Eaters or whatever? Well, they were another story. What a sad group of underdressed man-pleasers. She'd caught several unpleasant looks aimed at her, too. Understanding that most of these bitches had had their mouths on her man's cock, at least, and knowing how much time she spent on the road, she decided that she pretty much hated all of them. This must be something like what Hap felt when he watched her perform.

Ah. Insight. Jealousy was new for her, too. But she realized she'd hurt any one of these pathetic excuses for women if they touched him.

Gemma must have caught her vibe, because she came up and hooked arms with her. She leaned in and said, "Yeah, watch 'em. No question, they want what you have. But they got no easy way to go, and they serve a real purpose. They keep our boys level. Some of these boys are hard on 'em. Your boy was hard on 'em." Viv turned and met Gemma's eyes. The older woman nodded. "Uh-huh. Maybe he's flowers and chocolates with you, but not with them. So keep an eye out, sure. But try to get along with 'em, too."

A little later, Bobby came up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She hissed and flinched away. "Oh, sorry, darlin'! You okay?"

"Yeah, Bobby. Just a little sensitive. No worries, baby."

He smiled at that. "I hear you play—you're like an up-n-coming star or somethin'. Care to play a little with me?"

She looked over at Hap, who'd been beckoning her to the pool table. He shrugged and nodded. "I'd love to, but I didn't bring mine."

"No problem. I've got two here. If you don't mind playin' one of my pieces of shit."

She smiled. She could get good sound out of pretty much anything. "Not at all, baby. Let's do it."

Yeah. He was full of crap. Neither of his guitars was a piece of shit. He had a gorgeous vintage—50s or 60s—Gibson classical and a newer Gibson Hummingbird. "Bobby, if you think these are pieces of shit, what the fuck is a good guitar to you? I mean, I see you're a Gibson man, and being a Martin chick myself, I gotta quarrel with you on that score, but these are fabulous."

He blushed a little. "Okay, I was showin' off. They are sexy, ain't they? You wanna play the classical?"

"Fuck no. I don't want the responsibility. Give me the Hummingbird, and let's jam." She preferred a dreadnought anyway.

Bobby had a strong baritone and played a solid blues guitar. They ran through a pretty lengthy song list, trying to stump each other. It amused her to see him sobering up as he focused more on their playing that on partying. It also amused her to realize that the rowdy party had settled the fuck down, and everybody was sitting around watching and listening. It had been awhile since she had such a rapt, intimate audience. She dug it. She liked that she was impressing these people who were so important to her man.

They played a whole long series of classics, like "Walkin' Blues," "I'm Ready," and "Back Door Man." Those were too easy; neither of them was stumpable with the classics. Bobby tried some 60s rock, some Stones B-sides, like "Confessin' the Blues" and "What a Shame." Please. Like she wouldn't know those. She tried a lesser known Beatles piece, "Why Don't We Do It in the Road." She didn't stump Bobby, but she had the attention of every man in the joint. Hap looked practically lathered. Cool.

Finally, she played Bobby's age and nailed him with something newer, Marc Broussard's "Home," tapping the side of the Hummingbird like a drum.

After that, he just started feeding her songs for a strong female voice. He started "Natural Woman." She loved singing that song, and she looked at him and grinned. She didn't get much occasion to do it for an audience, because it wasn't usually appropriate for Leather's crowds. But she belted the shit out of it now.

Then Bobby set his guitar aside and said, "You win, darlin'. You have worn these old bones out. I need to catch up on my drinkin'." And he left her to noodle with the Hummingbird. Sure was pretty. Not as nice as the Martin she'd gotten for Christmas, but pretty nonetheless.

She was picking absently at the strings and realized that she'd played the first couple of bars of another favorite song, one she'd liked since middle school. And then she wanted to sing it to her man, sappy as it was. So she picked the song up and started singing "Songbird," looking at Hap while she sang.

_To you, I'll give the world.  
To you, I'll never be cold.  
'Cause I feel that when I'm with you,  
It's alright. I know it's right._

The room was quiet when she finished. She set Bobby's Hummingbird in its case. Hap racked his cue and came up to her. He kissed her hard and then said to the room. "Yeah. We're going." He pulled her out to a chorus of wolf whistles and various other animal noises.

As she was falling asleep that night, lying on her stomach, Hap's arm protectively across her lower back, she thought that if they hadn't made a baby that day, it sure as hell wasn't for lack of trying.

Things were suddenly moving crazily fast in her life, in a completely different direction than the one she'd been heading in for years. She knew she should be scared, but she wasn't. She felt exhilarated.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Just a quick note of thanks for the new faves and follows—and all the wonderful reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy the read. :)

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 15:  
**"Real Man," Bonnie Raitt

Hap looked around the table at his brothers. It had been months since Jax had taken the gavel, months since Hap had blacked out Clay's club ink and the disgraced president had disappeared, but Hap still thought the table looked wrong. Not because Clay wasn't at the head—fuck that treacherous son of a bitch. Hap would have relished the opportunity to bring him to Mr. Mayhem, if Bobby hadn't queered that vote.

But too many brothers were missing, and the ones left were losing their bond. Church these days was often a bleak affair. Hap wasn't yet convinced Jax was the one to bring them back together.

Hap had never cared much what the jobs were or how they were gotten. He hadn't been one of the brothers fussing about getting in bed with the Galindos. Work was work, money was money. As long as all the players were in the game, it didn't much matter to him. But there was no denying that getting in the middle of a cartel war had fucked things up for the Sons, no matter what kind of bank they were making.

They'd thought the war had done its damage, though. The Lobos had been quiet since the summer, when, using what Tig and Hap had extracted from their lieutenant in Indian Hills, the Galindos had blown away all their top officers. Now Jax was telling them that the Lobos had their feet back under them and were rebuilding their stateside connections. With a grudge. Within the next few months at the outside, they were facing another year like their first in league with the Galindos. Bloody and brutal. The year that the Lobos had burned his family.

He had never cared much about the work. But now, with his old lady at home, maybe with his kid inside her, Hap cared.

The table was quiet, processing the grim news. Then Jax sat forward and said. "We need to fill out this table. Rat's been prospecting a long time. Do we think he's ready for his patch?" The table got livelier then, more like it used to be. They argued for a while. Tig couldn't stand him—he always hated the Prospects, though, so they were doing their usual dance, letting him bitch and moan while the others pretended to argue Rat's case. Felt normal for a minute. Then they argued about V-Lin. Ultimately, they decided to call a patch vote for both in a week, giving the women time to plan a party.

"Okay. Last piece of business: everybody's up early tomorrow and over at Hap's for moving day." The table groaned.

Hap huffed. "Turnabout time, my brothers. I been carrying your shit for years."

"There better be something decent to eat and drink, you cheap fuck," Tig said.

"I'm not fucking cheap, asshole. I'm careful. There's a difference." He sat back and crossed his arms. "And Vivian's handling that shit, anyway."

Chibs laughed. "Aye and that's a relief—the lass'll make sure we're taken care of. She's got ya fully domesticated, Hap."

Hap just glowered while the table laughed.

* * *

He got back to the rental and walked into a maze of boxes in the kitchen. He could not fucking wait to get into the new house and get unpacked. The mess over the past few weeks was driving him to the brink.

Vivian walked in from the living room and leaned on the wall between the rooms, her arms crossed. She had a weird look on her face. Sassy and smug.

"Hey." He kissed her.

She didn't move. "Hey yourself. Church go okay?"

"Fine. What's goin' on?" She uncrossed her arms to show she was holding a white plastic thing with a pink top. She flipped it so he could see that there was a pink cross in a little window in the middle. "What am I looking at?" he asked.

She gave him an incredulous look. "Seriously? You don't know what this is? You sure you weren't raised in a cave? Baby."

He gave her a sharp look. "You know not to call me that."

Smiling, she hooked a finger under his belt and pulled him close. "I didn't call you anything."

What was her game? Well, he wasn't in the mood for it. "Vivian—" he stopped and checked out the stick again. He looked at her; she was looking at him like he was the slow kid and she was trying to be patient and wait for him to catch up with the rest of the class. "Are you—?"

"There ya go. Yep. You knocked me up."

He put his hands on her hips. He just looked down at her for a minute as he thought about church, and the cartel war heating back up. Were they really going to have a baby in the middle of this shit?

"Hap? Gotta say I expected a different reaction. You okay?" When he didn't respond, she pushed back from him. "This would be a monumentally shitty time to have second thoughts, Hap. This was your fuckin' idea."

He didn't like the worry on her face, the way it was growing into anger, and he pulled her close again. "No second thoughts. I'm glad."

She shook her head and draped her arms around his neck. "I don't know why I was thinking you'd be excited. Must be the hormones already."

This is what he wanted. It's all he wanted anymore, a life with this woman. A family. He wasn't going to let some fucking drug cartel keep him from it. Second thoughts were for pussies. He knew that. It was practically his mission statement. "I _am_ excited, Vivian. Here, I'll prove it." He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, meandering around the stacks of boxes everywhere.

* * *

She asked him not to tell anyone for awhile, but by lunchtime the next day, everybody knew; he'd been getting slapped on the back all damn morning. He was surprised Vivian couldn't keep her own secret.

Gemma had come over, too, with a couple of the girls, and the women put out a spread of cold cuts and sides for lunch. Hap was making himself a sandwich when Vivian came up behind him and yanked on his belt loop. "Can I talk to you for a minute, please?"

He brought his half-made sandwich with him as she pulled him to the side.

She had her hands on her hips. He'd done something wrong. Didn't know what. He'd been spending the day hauling furniture and boxes, so he wasn't sure how he'd gotten in trouble. "I thought you could keep a secret, Hap. I thought that was your specialty."

He wasn't going to take heat for something he didn't do. "It is. I didn't tell anybody. Thought you did."

"No, _you_ did." He started to protest, but she stuck her finger in his chest. "You. Chasing me around all morning taking away everything I pick up. Telling me to sit down and rest every 30 seconds. These are what are known as 'tells.' Great big neon tells. Gemma knew the first time you took a box from me. Now everybody knows, and I got a whole army of bikers not letting me do anything. It's annoying as hell. The kid's the size of a stunted chickpea, Hap. You don't have to carry me around on a pillow for the next eight months. Lighten the fuck up."

Getting lip for taking care of her was not something he especially enjoyed. Happened a lot, though. It was going to be a long eight months, because he was going to see to it that she stayed healthy, comfortable, and safe, no matter how she fussed. She was carrying precious cargo. She _was_ precious cargo.

Now, he just looked at her. He was neither apologizing nor conceding. "We through here?"

She stared back at him for a few seconds, then crossed her arms and huffed her exasperation. "Lord, you are such a pain in the ass. Yeah, fine. Go make your sandwich." As she sauntered off, he swatted her ass. She turned; he winked at her. She shook her head, rolled her eyes, and smiled. Minx.

The move happened fast with the whole club at it. By late afternoon, when the women served big pots of hot chili and baskets of fresh cornbread, everybody was lounging around the backyard, eating and drinking and shooting the shit. Vivian played and sang for awhile. A day like this, when they'd left the bullshit back in the chapel, and they were just relaxing and being friends together, Hap felt like his family was intact. Watching the way his woman fit in—and she'd just slid right in, as if there'd been a Vivian-shaped hole in the group—gave him a sense of peace and completeness he hadn't known before.

It was an early spring evening. Vivian had strung little white lights around, and Gemma had brought a stack of folding lawn chairs from the clubhouse storage. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the house he'd bought. Fuck, had his life changed. Vivian walked by, bringing out a couple of pies. She smiled and wiggled her hips at him as she passed.

It had been a sunny, unseasonably warm day, and she was wearing little denim shorts and a knit halter top. She had her hair up, and all day he'd enjoyed seeing his mark on her back, knowing everyone else saw it, too. It was getting too cool out here for what she was wearing, though. On her way back past him, he caught her wrist and pulled her into his lap. First, he kissed her, his tongue roaming in her mouth until she was squirming in his lap, and he was in dire need of a jeans adjustment. Then he said, "You're gonna catch your death. You need to get some warmer clothes on."

She sighed and pushed back from him. "Really, Hap? This is the way it's gonna be? With the monitoring and the restricting and the reporting in? No. Not how this works. I will go insane. I'm all by myself inside my skin. I know when I'm cold. I know when I'm hungry. I know when I'm tired. How 'bout I promise to take care of myself and the chickpea, and you trust me a little. I promise to ask for help when I need it. But you gotta give me some room."

Never was she going to just let him take care of her the way he wanted to. But now was not the time for this discussion. "I'm not talking about this out here with everybody looking and listening in." They were, too, nosy sons of bitches. "So you win. For now."

She grinned and kissed him. "No, I win forever. You just don't know it yet."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **I haven't done something like this before, packing a big chunk of time into one chapter, but I'm going to do a big time skip here and move quickly through the pregnancy with a few little vignettes. I hope it works.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. For better or worse, I claim the rest.

* * *

**CHAPTER 16:  
**"Try," Janis Joplin

Viv went out to the garage, where Hap was installing a new HVAC system in the bonus room. They were making it into a music room, and she didn't want her gear getting warped or otherwise damaged by the weird Central California climate—scorching, arid heat in the summer and weeks of rain in the winter. The crappy window AC unit that was here when they bought it was not going to cut it. Summer was upon them, so it was crunch time for this project.

He was standing on a ladder installing the new ductwork. He was shirtless, and she stood there for a bit and admired the view, the way his muscles rippled and made the images inked everywhere on his skin dance. If she thought she could get him to do it, she'd drag him off that ladder and fuck him right here. But he was dirty and sweaty, and there was no way he'd go for it. He was as fastidious about his body as he was about his environment.

Too bad. Her first trimester had been smooth as butter—no morning sickness or anything—and now in the second, her only weird pregnancy thing seemed to be continuous, nonstop, consuming horniness. Seriously. She wanted it when they got up in the morning. She wanted it when they went to bed. She woke up and mounted him in the middle of the night. She wanted it whenever she could get it from him. And she brought herself off at least once a day on top of all that. She was an orgasm-seeking missile. It was so intense that it freaked Hap out a little. Hell, she was freaked, too—enough that she'd asked the doctor, who'd told them it was normal. Thus unleashed, she basically attacked Hap whenever he got too close.

Having watched him until she was squirmy with need, she called out "Hey. Got a minute?"

He turned and saw her. "One sec, let me just secure this screw," he said. Heh. She'd like to secure a screw. He came down the ladder and grabbed a towel from a shelf to wipe the sweat and dirt from his hands and face as he walked to her. He got a look at her and stopped. "Honey, I love the sex thing you've got going on right now, you know I do, but I stink. So if that's why you're here, you'll need to handle that yourself this time."

She laughed. She considered "handling it herself" right here in front of him. See how well he withstood _that_. "Well, I'd do you if you'd let me, but that's not why I'm here. I'm going to the paint store, and I wanted to ask you how much you thought I'd need of each color for Chickpea's room. You picked the colors, after all." She'd started calling the baby the chickpea almost as soon as she'd found out she was pregnant, and the nickname had stuck. Even Hap called her Chickpea. They'd recently found out they were having a girl, but they hadn't talked about names yet, so Chickpea she was.

"Let me get this done today, and I'll take you tomorrow."

"No, I'm going now. I just wasn't sure how much to get. I can ask at the store, though." She blew him a kiss and turned to head out.

"Vivian! Wait." She turned back. "I don't want you getting paint by yourself. The cans are heavy. Call a Prospect if you won't wait for me."

"Hap, they're gallon cans. It's fine. I want to get going today. There's a lot to do in there."

"You're not fuckin' painting anything. Fumes. No way."

She knew he was trying. Sometimes he did a pretty good job. But he did love to lay down the law. Well, she was an outlaw, too. "I'm getting low-fume paint. The doctor said it was fine." Usually, that worked. Hap had big respect for doctors. In a different life, she thought he might have become one himself.

"No. The paint, the ladder, the mess. No. Call Joey, have him come over and take you to the store today, and he can start painting tomorrow." Joey was one of the new Prospects since Rat and V-Lin had been patched in.

She was gearing up for a fight when she realized she was fighting just to make a point. As long as the room got done, it didn't matter who did it. It's not like she had an itch to be up to her elbows in latex paint. He really had been trying. And she really hadn't been. She'd give him this one. "Okay. I'll call Joey."

He laughed. "Really? That's it? You feeling okay?"

"You want me to fight you, I will."

"No, I'll take the win." He walked up to her and put his hand on her belly, which was starting to swell the slightest bit. Chickpea was already moving in there, but just enough for Viv to feel it. She loved the intimacy of those flutters only she knew about. "Just taking care of my women." He kissed her.

He did stink. Powerfully. It totally turned her on. She put her hands on his shoulders. "Come on, Hap. Don't you want to be inside me?" She leaned in and licked his nipple. He tasted salty and a little grimy.

He groaned, but then he set her back. "I'm filthy, Vivian. But after I get a shower later, I'm going to make you pay up for what you're doing to me right now."

She smiled and put her hands on her breasts. Already full to start with, they were growing, and they were extra-sensitive, but no longer painful. Now, they were just easily stimulated. As was Hap, especially where her boobs were concerned. "You don't want to touch these right now?" She pinched her nipples through her bra and racer-back tank top. His eyes flared, and she licked her lips.

"Vivian . . ." It was a warning.

She moved one hand from her breast down into her shorts. "You don't want to touch me here?" She rubbed her clit and arched her back with a little moan. She was doing this for his benefit, but it was working for her, too, and if she didn't snag him, she was indeed going to get herself off right here. She slid the hand that was working her breast under her top and bra and gave the nipple a pinch. She gasped. "You sure, Hap? Really sure?"

"Christ, woman." He tossed the towel he'd still been holding to the side and took her breasts in his hands. She arched back, pressing herself into him. Groaning, he walked her forcefully backward until she hit the wall. "What you do to me." He kissed her hard, his tongue pushing relentlessly into her mouth, and he ripped her shorts open and pushed them down. She let them drop and stepped out of them while he yanked open his jeans. He hooked her knee and pulled it up to his waist. He was in her fast, pushing deep. Forget pickles and ice cream. This is what she craved.

He went at her, grunting with every muscular push, while she chanted "fuck me fuck me fuck me" until she screamed it. He kept going, so fast and hard her head was banging against the wall, until he put his hand behind her head to catch the impact. When he came, he roared. She loved that sound. It was pure, unadulterated, ecstatic release, and it was only for her.

He kissed her before he pulled out. Then he set her leg down and closed his jeans. "That kid is gonna be bruised, we keep at it like this."

"I don't think you're getting quite that deep." Although sometimes she wondered. She pulled her shorts back on and kissed his cheek. "I'll call Joey. Sorry for luring you into my sinful ways."

"No you're not. And I'm not done with you, woman. You still have some making up to do. Later."

She wiggled her fingers in a wave and sashayed back to the house.

* * *

She was lying on the sofa, her feet in Hap's lap. They were watching a documentary about the Industrial Revolution. Well, Hap was. Viv was reading. Documentaries about the 19th century weren't really her thing. But Hap was a history buff, and he'd pause it occasionally to argue with or add to whatever the narrator was saying.

He'd been rubbing her feet, until it stopped being relaxing and she got tetchy about it. She was starting to get tetchy a lot, she knew. Hap was being really patient with her newfound snappishness. But Lord, she was tired of the pregnancy thing, and she still had almost two months to go.

Hap had been away pretty often lately. Sons business seemed to be getting dicier, though he didn't volunteer much information, and she didn't ask. But now, as the pregnancy was nearing its end, he was staying closer to home—and therefore, she assumed, safer.

The band had worked on the album for a few months, and they'd laid down most of the tracks, at least in rough form. But they'd had to put any more studio work on hold until after the baby was born, because she was losing lung power. She was out of breath walking to the bathroom these days—a trip she made all fucking day. The sweet little chickpea who had been so careful not to ruin her mama's figure for five whole months had caught up with a vengeance. The doctor said there was only one little girl in there, but to Vivian it felt like a dozen or more, considering how huge she'd gotten. And how much the little twerp moved.

Like now, for instance. There was a regular disco party going on in there, and her bladder was the dance floor. She looked up from her book to watch her belly roiling back and forth. Every now and then what was obviously an elbow or knee would roll past. Hap was watching, too, and he pushed her way-too-tight tee up and bared her belly so he could get a better look. He laid his hand on her. Right then, _pow,_ a big kick. It hurt. _Thanks a bunch, sweetie._ "Ow."

Hap laughed, delighted. "She's gonna be a tough little bitch."

"I know you think it's funny, but it's not cool to call your daughter a bitch. Most fathers call their daughters princess, or muffin, or something cute like that. Find a better nickname."

He shrugged, still grinning. "I'm sticking with Chickpea." He pushed at her belly button, usually an innie, but now very much an outie. He loved to play with it. She tried not to bark at him for doing so. "Probably shouldn't be on the birth certificate, though. We're gonna have to figure out a name pretty soon."

She put her book down. "I think I know what I want to call her. I don't know if it'll make you mad, though."

He stopped playing with her navel. "What kind of name could piss me off?"

"I want to call her Katherine Belle. After your mother and my granny." She really didn't know how he would react to that. And he was just looking at her, still and silent, so she didn't have a better idea yet.

Finally, he smiled. "That's good, Vivian. Katherine Belle Lowman. That's beautiful. Thank you."

"Or Katherine Belle Green." He looked aghast. This was not a guy who went against tradition. Despite his outlaw life, he wasn't a rebel. He was more like a throwback, to the Wild West. He was not a big fan of newfangled ideas. She laughed. "Relax, Hap. I was joking. I want her to have your name. I just wanted to fuck with you a little."

"One of your favorite things to do. Exasperating woman."

"Just keeping you on your toes."

* * *

"Hap, we need to try something else. This is hurting a little." She was straddling him, and he was deep in her—too deep. Made her sore. She still wanted sex, a lot. And he was remarkably attracted to her round figure. But they were running out of positions to do it in, with her carrying around a small continent and his no-coming-from-behind rule.

"Sorry, honey. Let's stop." He helped her off him.

She sat next to him, running her hand over the taut muscles of his abdomen. She traced her mark on the front of his hip—a perfect replica of her Martin on a bed of flames, her named in script along its neck. His cock stood rigid, twitching occasionally as her fingernails lightly grazed his skin. "I don't want to stop. I want to try something else. I have an idea. Will you try it?" She encircled him with one hand and squeezed lightly.

Hap groaned and flexed his hips toward her. "Depends. What do you want to do?" She lay down on her side, her back to him. "Vivian . . ."

"Please, Hap. I want to be close to you. I want you inside me. This is different from what you did before. We've slept like this lots of times. You know how close it is. Please." She knew that especially these days there was not much he wouldn't do for her. And she was right; he rolled to his side behind her.

She lifted her head so he could slide his lower arm under. She pressed her ass against him, making him groan. She lifted her leg and rested it back on his. He positioned himself and pushed into her, then brought his arm around her belly. Oh, this was perfect. "Oh, yes, Hap. This is so good." She pushed back on him, and his hand slid down between her legs. Her thatch of hair had grown in over the past few weeks, since she couldn't fucking see to do anything about it, but it turned out Hap liked a bush. He ran his fingers through it now before he pressed his hand to her clit. She drew in a long, loud breath.

"Lord, Hap. It's so good. This is what I need. I love you so much." He moved his other hand to her breast, and now she had so many points of stimulation going on she thought she'd pass out from the pleasure. She moved against him as he thrust into her, grunting, his pace increasing, his hands keeping the same tempo as he rubbed and squeezed. Her orgasm lasted an eternity, and she arched her neck back against him. He pressed his mouth to her neck and bit down when he came, the sound he made muffled but still thrilling.

"What I tell ya?" she purred, her head still back on his shoulder, her lips against his ear.

He chuckled. "Smart girl."

He rested his chin on her shoulder and caressed her belly as they came down. "She's kicking up a fuss in there."

Viv put her hand on his. "Yeah. She always starts a-rockin' after Daddy comes a-knockin'."

"She does? You never told me that. Should we stop, then?"

Before she could answer, Hap tensed and lifted his head, staring at her belly. "Vivian, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Hap. It's normal. I asked the doctor." Her belly had gotten rock hard.

"What's going on?"

"It's a contraction—"

Hap sat bolt upright. "_What?"_

"—but not the kind you need to worry about. They're called Braxton-Hicks. They don't hurt. They talk about them in the baby book. It's just my body getting ready for what it has to do. Like warming up. For a couple weeks now, I've been getting them for a few minutes every now and then, and always after we have sex. Nothing to worry about. Doctor says I'll know the difference. Come back here. I was enjoying the cuddle."

* * *

Later that night, Hap went to make sure the house alarm was activated and everything was locked and secure. His usual bedtime routine. He came into the bedroom as she was brushing her teeth.

"Want the fan tonight?" he asked. She nodded, and he set it up. With only a couple weeks to go, she was outrageously uncomfortable, and the night was not her friend. Sleep was elusive. She was hot all the time, and Chickpea got her friskiest around 2am and then did laps around her mother's pelvis for two hours. Viv had found that a simple box fan, blowing right on her, helped a little. The noise it made was calming, and the breeze was cool. She could maybe snatch three hours or so before the fetal gym got started.

It was autumn, so the nights were cool for normal people, especially with the fan on. Hap had taken to wearing sweats and a t-shirt to bed. Viv slept naked, as always when she was in her own home.

They got into bed. She couldn't sleep if they were too close, but she didn't like to be away from him, so she curled on her side and put her arm out. Hap lay on his back and took her hand. Not for the first time, as she drifted off to sleep, she thought about how lucky she was, how glad she was that she'd taken a risk on her assassin lover. Her old man. He would do anything for her. He had changed his whole life out of love for her. And she sure had done the same for him. She didn't much think about whether there was a God or any kind of higher power, but she felt blessed.

_Find yourself a man like your daddy, Chickpea._

* * *

She woke with a hand over her mouth and a gun to her head.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **I feel a responsibility to prep you for this chapter by saying it's very dark. Probably the darkest thing I've written—which is saying something, I think. A lot of potential triggers. It was not easy to write, and I did a lot of soul searching before I stuck with it.

UPDATE: I've gotten enough negative feedback about the content of this chapter that I want to reinforce my warning. There's some intense sexual violence here. If that's a problem for you, then you could skip this chapter and fill in context with the next chapters to understand enough of what happened that it shouldn't slow you down too much. I made sure to be in Happy's POV so that there's some remove from what happens, and very little is fully described. But it's striking a chord, so I want to be clear. This chapter is a rough go. I don't think it's gratuitous, but it is intense.

I don't figure you want to know my big explanation about how this story's been headed here since early on (not that I realized it until a couple of chapters ago) or why certain kinds of events keep cropping up in my SOA world. If you do want to have that conversation, PM me.

I'll buffer what you're about to read by pointing out that the story is not complete. We're not ending here. We're not ending for a while yet.

In the meantime, my apologies. I promise, I really don't sit around thinking, "Bwahaha, how can I really fuck with my characters NOW?" Stuff like this makes my heart hurt.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 17:  
**(no music for this chapter)

Hap was wide awake the instant Vivian became distressed. He'd been on high alert for weeks, and feeling her have a contraction, whatever kind it was, had him amped up even more. But it didn't matter; it was already too late. As soon as he woke, cold steel was shoved against his ear, and he knew exactly what it was. Much worse, he felt a needle's prick in his shoulder. He only had seconds.

"Vivian—you listen to me! Remember what I told you—remember why they'd take me! Be strong! I love you!" He got it out before the dark overtook him.

* * *

He was bound, with heavy chains, to a metal chair in the middle of a windowless, concrete room. The chair was bolted to the floor. There were rings and chains embedded in the walls and floor. There were heavy metal tables against the walls. The room had a fetid, slaughterhouse smell. It was a literal torture chamber. A fucking dungeon.

He'd been alone in here for more than an hour, by his count. Pushing two. He'd had plenty of time to think, and he was fucking terrified. He'd never felt terror before, but he knew what it was. He had no idea how long he'd been out, so he had no idea how long they'd had them. Had Vivian. The Lobos.

He'd given up trying to work out how the hell they'd gotten through his security. They had. He'd given up berating himself for letting them get all the way into their fucking bedroom and put their fucking hands on Vivian without his notice. It was the goddamn fan, its white noise. That had been his idea, trying to help her sleep. And it was stupid; he'd grown complacent. What was eating at him now was how little damage they'd done to him. They'd knocked him around some, they'd slashed at him some. He was plenty bloody and swollen. But no lasting damage, and no pain worth note. They hadn't asked him anything, but he didn't expect them to.

They wanted him to suffer. They had Vivian, they hadn't hurt him, and they wanted him to suffer. He was nearly insane with worry.

There was no rescue coming. They'd clearly disabled the alarm, and he hadn't had a chance to hit the separate panic button in the bedroom. There was no reason for anyone to miss him until late in the afternoon—later today, unless he'd been out a lot longer than he was guessing. But there was no way they'd know where to look. This was endgame, right here. He was going to die in this room. He'd do it silently, that was a damn fact.

But Vivian! What were they doing to her? This was endgame for her, too. Her and the baby. The Lobos weren't masked. She wasn't leaving this place. His family, now entirely, irrevocably wiped out by the Lobos. To make him suffer, they were going to make her suffer. They wouldn't start in on him until she was dead, until she'd died hard. He knew it. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He'd tested his bonds thoroughly, but he wasn't going anywhere. He could only hope that the retaliation would be swift and devastating. He knew Tig would make sure it was.

He sat, he worried, and he waited.

* * *

He'd been alone about three hours when the steel door crashed open, and a big Lobo came in, pulling Vivian in by her bound hands. Two other men followed. She was naked. They'd pulled her naked from their bed. Why that enflamed him so much he didn't know—they likely would have stripped her right away anyway; humiliation was the first phase—but it did. She was bruised, and she was terrified, but she was conscious and on her feet. He didn't know what they'd done to her, but it looked like they were saving the real damage for his benefit. _Oh, honey, I'm so sorry._

The Lobo gave her a hard push and sent her to the floor. She curled up in a ball—as much of a ball as her belly would allow. He didn't know if she'd even seen him in here. "Vivian! Honey, look at me."

She turned her head up at his voice. "Hap?" She started to cry. "Oh, Hap. I thought you were dead. Are you okay? God, they hurt you!"

"I need you to keep looking at me. You look me in the eye, no matter what, understand? I love you. Be strong for me."

The same Lobo grabbed her bound hands and pulled her to the wall. She cried out, "Hap!"

"Look at me, Vivian! Look at me!" She did. Her eyes were wide and wild, but she locked on him. "Stay with me, honey. With me."

The Lobo chained her to the wall so her arms were over her head. Then he chained her ankles to the floor, so she was spread-eagle on the ground, her huge belly—their daughter—rising above her. Fucking Christ. He knew how they were going to start. Of course they were. It was a testament to his state of mind that he hadn't anticipated it. But she was pregnant, goddammit!

She was one step from outright hysterical. She was hyperventilating and shaking so hard he could see it, shaking so hard the chains on her were rattling against the concrete.

"You look at me. Do as I say, Vivian. You stay with me. Don't think about the rest. Stay with me."

There were three Lobos in the room with them. Now a fourth came in. Smaller. The way the others behaved, he was clearly in charge. He glanced at Vivian, gave her a kick, then walked right up to Hap, getting in his sightline to her.

"Happy Lowman. I have been wanting to meet you for a long time, _ese_. You are someone who has had my interest. I'm hoping you'll settle a question for me. I think that a man who could hurt a child—say, a little boy just out of diapers—must not care about anything. Do you think that's true, _ese_? Shall we see?"

Hap met his captor's eyes and stared, making a promise. He did not speak. The Lobo in charge moved out of his sightline and walked to a chair near the door.

Hap found Vivian's eyes again and held them. He didn't know if she'd heard, or understood, what had been said. It didn't matter.

The Lobo in charge took a seat and gestured to his men.

And it started.

* * *

Hap wasn't keeping track of time anymore. His full attention was on Vivian, keeping her strong, keeping her with him as long as he could. He'd started out trying to talk her through it, but they didn't want that, and now he was gagged. They wanted him to watch, so they couldn't keep him from keeping eye contact with her. They hadn't seemed to think of covering _her_ eyes, thank God.

Before they'd gagged him, he'd tried to get her to go limp, so it would go easier, but she couldn't. She'd resisted hard, for a long time. She tried not to scream or cry at first, but it just went on and on. They were doing terrible things, things that made Hap almost blind with red rage. Even so, she was doing her best to hold his eyes, despite her pain and fear. Now, exhausted and hopeless, she finally had gone limp and was barely reacting. She was staying with him, though. He hadn't lost her yet.

Then, suddenly, after a long time during which she was mainly quiet, staring back at him, she jerked her head up. She looked away from him, at her belly, between her legs. The Lobo there jumped back.

Hap was trying to understand what had happened. The Lobos were speaking Spanish; he couldn't understand. Vivian was in a full panic now—even more than at the start. And then he saw a clearish puddle spreading under her.

Her water had broken.

"Hap! Oh, God, Hap! The baby! Hap, the baby!"

The Lobo in charge indicated with a gesture that they were to continue.

* * *

Now she was screaming. She was in labor, and they weren't stopping. She'd long since stopped looking at him; she was trapped in her own hell of pain and fear and abasement, and he didn't think she even remembered he was there. If there was something he could have done to stop this from happening to her, to save her and their daughter, he would have offered it up on a platter. He'd sell his club, his soul, his blood, his life to get her out of this.

But they wanted nothing. Nothing but this.

The contractions were close. Hap was no longer able to focus enough to keep time, but they were only a few minutes apart, and Vivian was screaming nonstop. He couldn't imagine her pain. Then the Lobo in charge stood, left the room, and came back with a Glock. "This bores me," he said. And he shot her in the belly. Then he left the room again.

Her screams stopped, and she gasped almost soundlessly, writhing as much as the chains would allow, on the concrete floor coated with blood and urine and amniotic fluid.

Still gagged, Hap reared his head back and howled.

* * *

She was still alive; he could see and hear her suffering. But she wasn't with him any longer. She was dying slowly and enveloped in her last misery. Her contractions had stopped, he thought. He understood that they planned to let her and the baby bleed out on the floor, because they'd started on him now, and they were going to drag it out. They'd rolled in a metal cart arrayed with tools he knew well, but they hadn't used those yet. Those were for later. Now, they were breaking his fingers one by one, as slowly as possible. Didn't matter. There was nothing they could do to him that would top what had already happened. He sent his mind away. He was already dead.

They'd removed his gag; they wanted to hear him scream and beg. But they would be disappointed.

They were working on his left thumb, to complete the first hand, when there was a commotion outside the door. Then it crashed open, and Romeo, Luis, and Jax pushed into the room and shot both Lobos working on him. Hap was alert again instantly. "Get her help! The baby was coming. He shot her in the belly!"

Jax took in the scene and was rendered, for a brief moment, paralyzed. "Jesus Christ."

"Get her help! Now, Jax, NOW!" And Jax moved.

Now the room was full of Galindos and Sons. They were releasing Hap's and Vivian's bonds. Hap pulled himself free with his one good hand and dived to Vivian's side. She was still conscious, at least partly. But she was going. She'd lost a lot of blood. And he had no idea what had happened to the baby.

"You stay with me, Vivian. You stay with me. Look at me."

Her eyes came into focus, and she put her hand on his arm. "Hap, is she okay? I tried to be strong. But it hurt so much." Her voice was little more than a strained gasp.

"Vivian, you _were_ strong. You made me proud." She closed her eyes. He held her as close as he could.

V-Lin ran in. "Ambulance is here, Hap."

Romeo looked right at Hap and said, "Best if she wasn't in here."

Hap understood, and he gathered her up, ignoring the hot agony in his mangled left hand. He struggled to his feet. Tig stepped in to help, but Hap growled at him. As he walked out of that hellish room, he turned and looked at Romeo. "Don't you fuckin' kill them. They. Are. _MINE_."

* * *

Hap sat at Vivian's bedside. She was unconscious and would be for awhile. They were keeping her under heavy sedation to give her body time to start to recover from the massive physical damage she'd experienced before she woke and had to deal with the massive psychological damage that awaited her.

The baby was dead. In addition to whatever other trauma had been inflicted on her during her mother's torture, the Lobo's bullet had passed through her little heart. They'd delivered her via C-section, and Hap had sat at Vivian's bedside, holding their daughter's tiny, lifeless body until Skeeter had come with a tiny white casket and taken her away. She was beautiful, with the olive skin her parents shared and a wild shock of black hair like her mother's.

The nurses had offered to take her picture. At first, Hap had objected angrily, deeply offended. But Tara had put her hand on his shoulder and asked him what he would do if Vivian wanted to know what her daughter had looked like. So now, he had a heartbreaking photograph of his beautiful, dead child lying, as if asleep, in his arms.

The day after the baby—Katherine, named for his mother—had been taken away, Hap went to deal with Vivian's tormentors. Two of the soldiers and the one in charge. The big Lobo had been killed in the rescue. He'd left others to keep watch over Vivian. He asked Tig to help him—he only had one hand; his other was trapped in a cast. He was businesslike. He took no pleasure from it. He didn't know that he was capable of pleasure any longer. But no one had ever suffered at Hap's hands like these men suffered. He took medieval history as his inspiration.

He spent the better part of four days engaged in this work. The soldiers he killed at the end of the first day. The one in charge, though, the one who'd inflicted so much on Hap's family with a flick of his hand, that one he made last and last. Each night, while others kept the Lobo alive to survive another round, Hap cleaned up and went back to sit at Vivian's bedside.

When it was time to kill him, Hap made sure he was fully conscious and then set him on fire. He stood and watched until the fire died out, having consumed everything it could. That's what fire did.

Then he returned to Vivian and tried to understand how he could possibly tell her what she'd lost because of him.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Okay. The previous chapter seems to be messing with people pretty strenuously. It messed with me to write it. I stand by it, but I also really apologize for the upset. So I'm going to go ahead and post the next chapter and get us moving away from that scene. Seems like it needs to not be hanging out there on the end. I'm half tempted to pull the whole damn story, but we'll try this first.

Some personal disclosure, FWIW (and also to hopefully manage some of the more . . . pointed . . . PMs—it'd be nice not to be getting slapped around on this point): I myself have lost a baby at birth. So the whole holding the body/taking a picture/waiting for the guy from the funeral home to come with a little white casket—not to mention Viv's reaction in this chapter-that's all personal experience. (The little white casket they bring is basically Styrofoam, btw. I've always found that deeply offensive.) Believe me when I tell you that it messed with me to write about the baby's death.

But what Hap did in Indian Hills was there and demanding to be dealt with. I didn't have any idea when I wrote that scene that we'd end up here. I wrote it for entirely other reasons. But it was there.

In the SOA world, where women are routinely victimized, and where drug cartels go for the families first, I really believe this is the kind of retaliation that would come down.

By rights, this chapter should be in Viv's POV. I've been consistently alternating between their POVs with every chapter. But I can't be in her head right now. I tried, but it's too close to my own stuff. I didn't want to force the previous chapter, in Hap's POV, to go on too long, though. It needed to stop where it stopped. So we're sticking with Hap, even though it disrupts my narrative pattern.

Okay. So. Moving on. Obviously, it's not sunshine and daisies yet, and it will take some time to get there. But there's nowhere to go but up, right?

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 18:  
**"I'm Tore Down," Freddie King

Hap stood next to Vivian's bed, holding her hand. Tara, another doctor, and two nurses were in the room with them. They were ready to bring her out of sedation. A nurse was standing by with another, lighter sedative, in case it was necessary.

He held her hand and watched her face, making sure he was the first thing she'd see when she woke. In a few minutes, as the effects of the sedative left her system, he saw her breathing change, and he saw consciousness come on her. He missed her, he wanted her back, he needed her, needed to find solace with her, but he wished she could stay far away from the truth of her life now.

She opened her eyes and saw him. She was quiet at first, but he saw her know him. Then he saw her moment's confusion as she realized she didn't know where she was.

And then he saw the memories come on her. Panic overtook her fast. She started to scream and tried to sit up, but her body wasn't yet capable of that, and the pain drove her down and increased her panic.

He grabbed her face in his hands, his cast hard against her right cheek. The nurse with the sedative approached the IV stand; Hap growled, and she took a step back. He didn't want her going under again if he could help it. He needed her with him. "Vivian! Vivian, look at me. Look at me. It's over. You're with me. It's over."

She locked eyes with him, and he could feel her drawing strength and calm from him, as she'd done before. The pain in her eyes was so huge, though. And it was only going to grow. She slowly relaxed, and he released his hold on her head. He could see that the memories were still coming at her, and she was trying to process them. She was shaking hard, but she had his good hand held tightly in hers. He was glad for the strength her grip showed.

Within a few seconds, though, she realized that her belly was gone. She clutched at her too-flat stomach and tried again to sit up, again being driven back down by the pain. She looked at Hap, the terror clear on her face. "Where is she? Hap, where is she?" Her voice was weak, but the fear in it was powerful.

He brought her hand to his lips. "I'm so sorry, honey. I'm so sorry."

Understanding dawned quickly. "No. No. No, no, no, no, no. Oh, God, no. Please, Hap. Please no."

He turned to the audience in the room, standing there watching, doing nothing. "Get the fuck OUT. NOW. I'll call if she needs you. Just get OUT." Tara nodded and herded everyone out.

Alone with her now, he sat carefully on the bed and tried to take her into his arms, gently. She fought him at first, crying "no," hitting him, strong in her denial. He let her lash out at him, hoping she wasn't hurting herself, until he felt her grab his kutte in her fists. Then she just cried, her wails stilted by her physical pain but still deep and wrenching. He pulled her close, tucking her head against his shoulder.

Then, holding the woman he loved as her grief for their lost child washed over them both, for the first time since he was a small child himself, Hap cried.

* * *

She wouldn't talk. Not to him, not to anyone. She'd gone to sleep not long after he'd told her about the baby, retreating back into darkness. She woke screaming an hour or so later. And she'd stopped talking.

She didn't even cry. She just lay and stared at the wall in front of her. If he talked to her, or if a nurse or doctor, or a visiting friend, spoke to her or asked her a question, she'd turn and look at the speaker. But she wouldn't talk. When they were done, she stared at the wall.

She wouldn't eat or drink, either. They were threatening her with a feeding tube. They were threatening her with the psych ward. He was fucking sick of people threatening her. She'd had enough forced on her. Enough. She needed time.

Every time she slept for more than an hour, she woke screaming. They were sedating her again at night so that she could get some rest. Her recovery wasn't going well. She was getting weaker, not stronger. She was dwindling. His strong, sassy woman was gone; she'd left a ghost in her place.

She wouldn't hold his hand. He thought that was the worst part. He'd take her hand, and it would lie slack in his, as if it were empty.

Hap stayed with her as much as he could. But the quiet days sitting next to her stretched out endlessly.

* * *

He wasn't staying with Vivian at night anymore; she was sedated enough to sleep through, and he needed to try to get some rest. He was staying at the clubhouse, because he couldn't spend any time in their house. Not without her, and not with that little purple and yellow room they'd made ready for someone who'd never use it.

But he came every day and sat with her, at least for a while. When the Sons needed him, he went. He wasn't getting called often, but he'd told Jax he wanted in on all action against the Lobos, no matter what.

He intended to slaughter every fucking one of them. Medievally.

One morning, almost two weeks after they'd been taken, Tara stopped him in the hall on his way to be with her. "Happy, I need to talk to you."

He stopped and waited. She pulled him into a small waiting room and sat him down. He wondered what purpose such a small room served.

"They want to move her to psych, Hap. I can't put them off anymore. They're ready to force the feeding tube and move her up to psych."

"No fuckin' way. She's not crazy. She's fucking sad. She's hurt, and she's sad. Tara, she's not fucking crazy."

"You're not her husband, Hap. You have no legal standing. You're not officially the decision maker. If she's not going to speak for herself, they're going to, unless her next of kin does. It might be too late even then, but that's the only thing to try."

Vivian hadn't wanted to get married; she'd done a rant about meaningless rituals when he'd brought it up. Marriage had seemed to Hap the thing to do, especially once she was pregnant, but he hadn't really cared; his ink on her was the important thing to him.

As far as he knew, though, neither of them had considered this legal standing thing. That was stupid. And it would have to change. It infuriated him to think he had to call Dex to get help for _his_ old lady.

Dex had come to Charming early on, while she was still sedated, and spent a couple of days. He'd gone back to Berkeley to try to keep the band, and their deal, together. No one had thought about the power of attorney. They were in Charming, so no one had gotten in Hap's way until now. Dex hadn't been back, though he'd called several times to check in. Their conversations had been stilted at best, hostile more often. Dex blamed Hap for all of it.

So did Hap.

"Her friend has her power of attorney. I'll get him down here today. She's not crazy, Tara."

But Tara wasn't done. "It's not just that. They're pushing to get her out of the bed. She doesn't have insurance, Hap, and her bills are mounting. If she's committed to psych she'll have more time here. Time she needs, unless she can shake this off. If you get her friend down here, and we get her to eat, if she's starting to improve, I can try to buy her a few more days.

He punched the wall with his good hand. "The bills will get fucking paid. This is bullshit."

Tara grabbed his arm. "Careful, Hap. You only have the one right now." She led him to a chair, and they sat down together. "Call her friend. Then try to talk to her. Try to at least get her to take nourishment. If she won't do that, then she _has_ to get the tube. Today. She's going to starve to death—she's not that far from it now. And if she's being forcibly fed because she refuses to eat, we don't have a lot of leverage to keep her off the fourth floor, no matter what."

"You don't know what she went through, Tara. What they did to her. And her baby is dead. It's not crazy to need some time."

Tara spoke softly, "I know what happened to her body. I know enough to know I can't imagine what she went through. But she survived it, and now she's killing herself." She took his good, though now bruised, hand. "_Your_ baby is dead, too."

He shook free of her and leapt up. "You think I don't fuckin' know that?"

Tara stood and went to him. "I'm saying you need someone, too, Happy. I know you don't want to lose them both. You need her. Make her see that."

* * *

He looked through the window in her door before he went in. Everything was as it had been since they'd woken her up. She was lying in the bed, staring quietly at nothing. She was gaunt and ashen; he hadn't noticed before how very ill and small she looked, but after talking to Tara and hearing how close she was to starving herself to death, he now saw it. It made something inside him clench into a fist.

He'd been sitting here for days and days with her, holding her hand, but not pushing her. Barely talking to her; letting her be quiet. He'd thought he was helping her, giving her the time she needed. But he wasn't helping her. He was letting her be broken. Letting her leave him.

When he came into the room, her eyes went to him. "Hi, honey." She didn't respond. He knew she wouldn't. He sat down next to her bed and took her cool, limp hand. He felt now how papery and loose her skin was over the bones of her fingers. How could he not have seen all this? Paying attention was something he was good at. How could he have missed that she was killing herself?

He sat for a long time and tried to figure out what words he had that might move her. Her eyes wandered back to center as he sat there contemplating.

"Vivian, look at me."

She turned her head toward him. "You need to come back now, honey. I know you're hurting, but you need to come back now." She looked away.

No. This ended now. It had to. He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him again. "_I_ need you to come back, Vivian. I miss you. I'm—I'm lonely. Damn, I'm lonely." He felt a lump growing in his throat; he shoved it away. "I'm so sorry for what happened. I know it was my fault, and I'm so fucking sorry. I love you."

Her eyes were shining with tears. That was new; she hadn't cried since she'd first woken up. Even when she woke screaming, there were no tears. He looked deep into her eyes, trying to reach her, trying to will her to come back. She looked away.

"I lost her, too. I lost her, too, honey. I can't lose you. Please come back. Please, Vivian. I need you."

A tear leaked out from the outside corner of her eye, and she closed her lids.

"Vivian, please. _Please_." He didn't have any other words for how he was feeling, how empty he was without her.

She opened her eyes again. She opened her mouth, but then she closed it, making a little gasping sob.

"Come on, honey. Talk to me. Please."

"Hap." It was a tiny sound, barely audible. But he heard it. He clutched her hand to his face and felt her fingers curl around his.

"That's my girl. That's my girl." He kissed her hand.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **OMG, you guys. I went from utter despair to huge warm fuzzies overnight. I can't tell you how touched I am to have gotten so much support and encouragement. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews and PMs!

Extra love goes out to **MuckyShroom, Simone Santos, **and** R3-1 M4y3r**. Seriously. Sending you virtual tequila, chocolates, sexy bikers-whatever your pleasure is. Thank you. Mwah!

So let's get back to trying to help Hap and Viv through this awful, dark time. Big damage, obviously. It's going to take some time. But their love is deep and strong.

And I know, I know, with the cliffies. Next chapter up tomorrow, promise.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. I continue to be undaunted in claiming the rest.

* * *

**CHAPTER 19:  
**"Misery," Dana Fuchs (As **emilief **pointed out early on, Viv is Dana Fuchs, with darker coloring and several inches shorter. It wasn't intentional-I had to google her when emilief pointed it out-but it's eerie. Similar look, similar voice, similar style. If you want a visual for Viv, google her.)

She sat in the passenger seat of the Corolla and looked at their house. She didn't want to go in there. She didn't have a choice, though.

Hap came around and opened her door. He helped her out, then he offered her his strong arms, the one in the cast around her shoulders, the other for her to lean on. He helped her into the house.

He led her through the house and down the hallway, past a closed door behind which was the baby's room. She slowed before it, but Hap wouldn't let her stop. He led her on, until they got to their bedroom. In there was her brass bed. She could see that he'd made it up for her, turned down the comforter and fluffed her pillows.

She couldn't go in there.

He tried to move her over the threshold the way he'd moved her past the baby's door, but she couldn't go in there. "Vivian? Come on, honey."

She couldn't go in there. Talking was hard. She didn't know why; she tried, but words just seemed to die in her throat. And she couldn't get anything out now. She couldn't tell him that she could feel the presence of those monstrous men. Instead, she just panicked. She pushed away from him, whimpering, trying to get loose from him.

"Hey—hey. Okay. Don't hurt yourself. Okay." He pulled her close. She struggled against him at first; then she gave up and went limp, breathing hard. "Okay, honey. We need to get you off your feet, though." He stood in the hallway, holding her, for a minute or two. "How about the couch—is the couch okay for now?"

She nodded, her head against his chest, and he turned and led her to the living room instead.

He sat her in the chair. "Let me set the couch up for you. You sit tight, okay?" Then he brought out the bedding from their bed and made the couch up for her. He'd brought out one of his SAMCRO t-shirts, too. She let him help her change, even though the touch of his hands on her bare skin made it crawl, made her want to scream. She tried to hold all that back, but she saw that he knew.

He helped her onto the couch and tucked her in. He kissed her forehead. "You should rest a little before I make you something to eat."

She nodded. She didn't want to sleep. She hated to sleep, but she could feel it coming whether she wanted it or not.

He sat on the floor at her side. "I'm right here, okay? Whatever you need, I'm right here."

She closed her eyes. When she woke screaming, he was still there.

* * *

She struggled up from the couch while Hap was in the shower. She'd been home a week, but she still couldn't go into their bedroom. She slept in the living room, on the couch. Unwilling to leave her alone all night, Hap slept in the chair.

She was starting to be able to move around on her own, though. She was so torn up, but she was healing, slowly. Her body was, anyway. Her heart, her mind? Maybe never.

She walked down the hall to the closed door. Hap wouldn't let her into this room. But she'd been pulled to it since the day he'd brought her home from the hospital. She went in, closing the door behind her.

It was such a pretty room. Her favorite thing about it was how much Hap—dark, gruff, super-macho Happy Lowman—had picked out. He'd chosen the color scheme—soft lavender and sunshine yellow. He'd painted bees and sprigs of lavender on the walls; as a gifted tattooer, he was a talented artist. And one day a mahogany crib with a canopy top had been delivered, complete with white lace dressing for it—he'd ordered it without telling her. She'd been floored; it was about the girliest, princess-iest thing she'd ever seen. She never would have picked it out herself, but somehow it was perfect. When the room came together, about a month before everything was destroyed, she'd sat in here, in the rocking chair he'd bought, and thought about how much insight there was in this little room to the kind of father Hap would be. She hadn't minded at all how much he'd done without her input. She'd been touched beyond telling.

She'd remembered warning herself when she met him not to make the mistake of thinking there was sweetness in him. But there was. A wide, soft streak, right through his heart. He was a good man. He loved hard, with everything he had.

Now, she sat slowly down in the rocking chair and thought about their little girl. Little Chickpea. Katherine Belle. Who was her daddy's princess before she was born. She was dead because of who her daddy was.

She didn't blame Hap. She knew he blamed himself, but it wasn't his fault. She had come to love him knowing who he was. He hadn't hidden any of it. She had agreed to live this life, and to bring a child into it, with her eyes open. She had thought so, anyway. But what had happened was beyond imagining.

She loved him. She needed him. But her love for him was bound up tightly with the death of their daughter and with the horror she had experienced. She didn't know how to get it all untangled, or whether it even could be. She didn't know how to look at him and not remember the day, the lifetime, that she'd spent staring into his eyes, trying not to go truly insane. He'd gotten her through it. He'd helped her hold on to something good, their love for each other.

And now, the very thing he'd done to save her was keeping the horror alive in her head.

She hadn't told him that. She was still having trouble making words for even the smallest statement, and she had no idea how on earth she'd say such a thing to him. But she knew he felt her reserve, and she knew he believed that she blamed him, that blame was the reason for her distance. She couldn't find the words to make sense of anything.

She heard him looking for her, calling her. She heard tension in his voice when he didn't find her in the few places he might have expected her. Then he was standing outside the door to the baby's room. "Vivian?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but couldn't get even that word out. He opened the door slowly, as if he were worried about what he might find.

"Aw, honey. What are you doing in here? Don't do this to yourself. Come on. Let me take you to the living room."

He reached down to help her, and she jerked away as if his touch disgusted her. She flinched so hard that pain sliced through her middle. She hadn't meant to react like that, and she saw in his face how much she'd hurt him.

"I don't know how to help you, Vivian. I wish you would tell me how to help you."

"You can't." She forced the words out in a whisper. He squatted next to the chair. He leapt at her every utterance, as if he were hoping that each one would be the one that would break the barrier between them.

"I want to try. Let me try. Please, honey." He put his hand on her cheek. She didn't quite control the shiver that went through her, and he dropped his hand.

"You want me to leave you alone in here?" She nodded, and he looked down at the floor for a long moment. She stared at the snake inked on his scalp. "Okay. I'll come back in a little while and see if you're ready to get up." He kissed the top of her head and left. He closed the door.

* * *

When they got home from the doctor's office a couple of weeks later, Hap led her into the house.

"Do you need anything?"

"No. I'm okay." She'd mostly regained her power of speech, but they didn't have much to say to each other these days.

"Okay. I'm gonna go to the clubhouse. Call me if you need anything."

She nodded. He kissed her the top of her head and went into the garage. She heard his Dyna pulling out and away.

She'd gotten a mostly positive progress report from the doctor. She was healing, she was gaining weight, and she was talking more normally. She was doing what she was supposed to. Then, at the end of the appointment, Hap had leaned forward and asked when she would be able to get pregnant again.

She'd sat there in the chair next to him fending off a panic attack. It was certainly nothing they'd talked about. They were barely talking about anything. The thought of another baby was too much to contemplate. The thought of sex made her sick to her stomach.

And then the doctor had said that it would be virtually impossible for her to have another baby. Hap had completely deflated at the news.

* * *

"Vivian. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me why you're so far away. I'm going fuckin' nuts like this. What can I do?"

They were sitting at the table, eating Chinese take-out. They'd been sitting quietly, not really talking. She knew that she was still too quiet all the time, but she couldn't think of things to say. Her body was healing, but she hadn't been able to regain her comfort with Hap. And she didn't know how to tell him what he was asking to know. It would hurt him too much. She knew it would.

He dropped his fork to his plate. She jumped at the clatter and dropped her chopsticks. They fell to the floor, and when she'd picked them up and sat straight, he was leaning toward her. He grabbed her arm. She shrank back reflexively, but he held on and grabbed her other arm, too.

"Fuck, Vivian. Why won't you let me touch you? Do you think I'm gonna hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"_Talk_, dammit. Talk to me."

She took a breath and let it out slowly. "I don't think you're going to hurt me, Hap."

"Then _what_? Is this blame or punishment or something? If it is, tell me so. I know it's my fault, what happened. I know. I'm so fuckin' sorry. Tell me what I can do."

"I don't blame you. I'm not punishing you. It's not that at all. I love you."

"_Then what is it? _Vivian, fuck. Look at me. You never look at me anymore."

Reluctantly, she met his eyes and felt the now-familiar shock of anxiety when she did. She didn't know how to tell him. But she saw real desperation in the way he was looking at her. So she tried. But she couldn't do it while she looked at him, so she dropped her eyes to the table.

"When I look in your eyes, I'm back in that room. When I see you, I see them."

He let go of her arms and sat back hard. "Vivian. I'm not—_no_. Jesus Christ, don't say that." The shock and hurt was plain in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Hap. I wish I could make it stop. I want to it to stop so bad. But it won't."

They sat there in silence. Then Hap got up and walked out of the room. After a while, Viv got up and cleaned up their dinner.

That night, he went back to sleeping in their bedroom—a room she still couldn't sleep in—and thereafter he started spending a lot more time away from her, leaving her alone in the house.

* * *

"The longest they'll give us is another month. If we don't have it in the can by the end of the year, the deal's dead. I'm sorry, Viv, but we have to make some decisions now. We need to know where you are on this."

She was sitting with Dex in her music studio off the garage. She and Hap had made a perfect room together—a little practice space, a little sitting area, great storage. It had been quiet back here for a long time now; Viv hadn't picked up a guitar since she'd lost space for it on her lap.

Now Dex was sitting here telling her she was about to be kicked out of the band _she'd_ started. She and Benji. Twelve years ago, they'd gone looking for a drummer and found Dex.

She was scared and hurt. But she understood, too. The band was their livelihood. Things were a lot less lively if they weren't making music. They hadn't played together since late in the summer.

So at first she just nodded.

Dex huffed in frustration. "Viv, _come on_. Don't give this up. This is who you fucking _are_. I know you're going through some epic shit right now. I don't even know how to understand what you've been through. But I know you better than anyone. You've let this fucking biker change your life—and look where you've ended up. He's ruining everything. Don't let him."

"Not fair, Dex. This isn't Hap's fault."

"Are you kidding me? Of _course_ it's his fault. Come on, Viv. You've always faced facts, head on, clear eyes. You don't think what happened to you happened because of him, that's straight up denial. And that's what I'm talking about. You need to come back to Berkeley where you belong. Get away from this shit. Be safe. Be yourself."

"You think I was safe on Telegraph? Benji almost killed me there. And that had nothing to do with Hap." As soon as she'd said it, she wished she could take it back. She didn't want to bring Benji up with Dex or anyone who knew him. She didn't want anyone to think about Hap together with the fact that no one had heard from Benji in months.

Dex was pacing the room now. "That's different. Benji's just one fucked up guy. The biker is a whole lifestyle. Benji's dropped off the map, anyway. Really, this time. Probably OD'd by now."

He sat back down next to her and took her hands. "Think how much happier you were—we all were—before this guy came into your life. We had something good, and it's all gone to shit this year."

"You're talking about it as if I have to leave Hap in order to keep the band together. We were recording a few months ago, while I was with him. Why can't I do both?"

"You're too far away here. You're out of the loop. It was happening before all this, but Oscar and Sean and I were trying to make it work anyway, because of the deal with the label."

Oh, now, this was news. This wasn't just about her getting hurt and not playing. This was about something bigger. This sounded like a cabal had been forming behind her back. "Speak straight, baby."

"You have to make a choice, Viv. You're out unless you come back to Berkeley. We're ready to kill the label deal if we have to."

"_Fuck_ you. This is my fucking band, baby. It's not yours to take."

"You left _us_, Viv. You left us. We all want you back. We all love you. It's been fucking heartbreaking to think of losing you. But we can't work like this, and we need to work. And you need to come back to your life."

"Dex, you got no idea what you're talking about. There's no 'coming back.' Who I was? She's fucking dead."

"Jesus, Viv. Don't say that."

She shrugged. She had nothing else to say. They sat together for awhile, quietly. Viv's head was rioting. Leather had defined her—she'd fronted that band since she was 24 years old. That life had forged the woman she'd been. It was a full, rich life, with friends and music and all kinds of delightfully weird shit going on at all hours.

On the other side was this life with Hap. Crazily quiet most of the time, but with bursts of unspeakable violence. Who was she here? Now? Was she anyone other than Hap's old lady? Hap's seriously fucked up old lady who slept on the couch and screamed herself hoarse every night?

Standing at the heart of this mystifying life was Hap, whom she loved profoundly. But they had drifted oceans apart since they'd been taken. That was her fault, she knew. But she couldn't find her way back.

Dex stood up. "I'm gonna head out, Viv. I'm really sorry to dump all this on you. Take a couple of days, think about what you really want. Think about what you _need_. Let me know." He held out his hands for a hug.

Viv sat. She was furious with him. But she understood, too, what he'd said, why he'd said it—and how hard it was for him to say it. She finally stood up and hugged him, reluctantly. He wrapped his arms tight around her, and she went rigid. She hadn't allowed anyone to touch her like this in weeks. Not anyone. But then it felt right for Dex, her best friend, to hold her now. She relaxed into him a little and hugged him back.

When they separated, Dex brushed her hair back from her face and said, "Okay?" She shrugged. They turned to head out to his car.

Hap was standing in the doorway, looking ready for mayhem.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:**. More thanks for the wonderful, touching reviews and PMs. Thanks for sticking with me, and with Hap and Viv. It means more than I can say. 3

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy

* * *

**CHAPTER 20:  
**"Leave My Girl Alone," Buddy Guy

Hap stood there, watching her wrapped up with Dex. Her arms around his neck. His arms around her back. It went on for fucking ever.

She crawled out of her fucking skin if he even put a hand on her.

They pulled apart, and that dead motherfucker caressed her face, her hair. They turned toward him, and when she saw him she looked _fucking guilty_.

The rage came on him fast, surging up his spine and into his eyes. He had Dex by the throat and threw him to the ground in the backyard. He landed on top of him and just let loose. Fists flying, blood spraying. He heard her far off, screaming, "Hap! Hap, stop! You're gonna kill him!"

That, bitch, was the fucking idea.

Dex wasn't a small guy; he was as big as Hap, but Hap had the advantage. He had the experience. And he had the rage. He felt Vivian grabbing at his arm; he flung her away and kept going. He heard a crash, though, and looked over to see that he'd thrown her into the potting bench. She was on the ground.

He pulled up short, and Dex took the opportunity to throw him off and get to his feet. Dex was a bloody fucking mess, but he came up ready to fight.

Hap stood and growled at Dex, "Get the fuck out of my house. I _will_ kill you, motherfucker."

He walked over to Vivian to see if she was hurt, but she cringed away from him. He couldn't fucking take any more. No more. He stalked to his Dyna and rode away.

* * *

He stormed into the clubhouse and pulled a new bottle of Jack from behind the bar. He opened it and drank from it—big swallows, as if it were water. Bobby and Chibs were sitting at the bar. They'd been talking when he came in; now they were just staring at him. He pulled the bottle away from his mouth.

"What?"

"Problem, brutha?" Chibs asked. With a nod, the Scot indicated Hap's hands, the knuckles bloody and swelling. His left hand ached like a motherfucker.

"It's all a fuckin' problem." He took another long swig. He took the bottle and went to sit alone in one of the leather chairs. Everyone gave him his space.

For weeks, he'd been patient with her, trying to give her what she needed to get better, to be Vivian again. He thought he'd reached her in the hospital, and he supposed he did, because she'd started eating and trying to talk. He thought she had come back because she knew he needed her—because he'd told her he needed her and fucking _begged_ her to come back to him.

But she sure as fuck wasn't back to be there for him.

He felt more alone than ever, while she sat in the same room with him, walling herself off. Since they'd been home, every time he touched her, he saw a shiver of disgust go through her—if she even let him put his hand on her at all.

She wouldn't sleep in their bed. She wouldn't touch him. She would hardly talk to him, even after she'd started talking again. When she'd finally told him why, he thought he'd lose his mind.

She had him lumped together with the fucking Lobos that had hurt her. It made him sick. It infuriated him. And it made perfect sense. He wasn't any different from them. What had happened to her happened because he'd hurt a little kid. He'd done it for his club. So had they.

He didn't know how to get her back from that. And he didn't know how to get back from her. He was losing her, and he didn't know how to live the life he'd had before her. Her and their little girl.

The bottle was just about empty. He drained it and got up for another. He didn't feel the whiskey at all yet. Fuck. He needed to get fucking drunk and set this shit aside before he lost his fucking mind.

As he grabbed a new bottle, a little blonde 'Eater with huge fake tits swung past and said, "Hi, Happy." She winked.

He had no idea who she was. She was little and filled with plastic. She looked like a less-used-up Ima, and he hated skinny little fake bitches like her. He set the bottle on the bar and grabbed her arm.

Bobby looked over and said, "Hap, whatcha doin'?"

"Mind your own, brother_._"

He dragged the little blonde bitch into a corner of the room and put her on her knees.

She was obviously a new girl, and her eyes got wide when she pulled him free of his jeans. But she made a good effort. She grazed him once with her teeth, and he yanked up hard on her hair. After that she kept them out of the way. When he was getting close, he grabbed her head and began pounding into her mouth. She started to whimper and gag and try to pull away; he could not have cared any less.

Then he heard Chibs call out, loudly, "Aye, Vivvie, lass! What a sight y'are! Glad to have y'back! Come sit wi' me. I missed ya."

He told himself he could not have cared any less about that, either. He kept pounding into the blonde's mouth until he came. He held her hard, down her throat, until he was done. Then he released her, and she fell back and scooted away.

He looked over and saw Vivian standing, staring, watching him. He met her eyes as he shoved himself, still hard, back into his jeans and buttoned up. She held his gaze for a brief moment; then she dropped her eyes. She turned and walked out of the clubhouse.

He went back to the bar and grabbed his bottle of Jack.

* * *

He eventually passed out in the chair, and he woke the next morning as the garage was opening. The Prospects and mechanics were in getting coffee and muffins or whatever. He fucking hated being around this shit in the morning. His head was screaming. He found some aspirin behind the bar, dry swallowed it, and went back home. He didn't know what kind of shit he faced there, but they were going to have it out one way or another. He was done with being patient.

The Corolla wasn't in the driveway. He went into the house. The bedding that she'd folded and stacked in the corner of the living room every morning was gone. He went into their bedroom. She hadn't slept there in weeks, but she'd eventually been able to go in to use the closet or master bathroom. Her clothes were gone. The bathroom was devoid of her girly clutter.

He ran out to her music room. Her gear was gone.

Bitch fucking ran. Bitch fucking ran. BITCH FUCKING RAN. He picked up an empty guitar stand and threw it across the room. Then he tore what was left of her music room apart.

* * *

He stormed into the clubhouse later with a duffel over his shoulder. He ignored the brothers hanging out in the main room and went straight to the apartment and locked the door.

He sat on the end of the bed and put his head in his hands. He was on a rage bender. He had to try to get control. Until he had control, he couldn't figure out what to do.

He'd come to the clubhouse because he couldn't be in that house. He'd bought it for her. It had her all over it. Whole damn place smelled like her.

He knew she'd gone to Berkeley. She had no place else to go. He'd thought about chasing her down and dragging her back. But he'd been following her around like a damn dog since he met her. Enough.

She was his fucking old lady. Her place was with him. She bore his mark. He'd never, ever thought to mark a woman as his, but he had. That was long haul shit. You didn't fucking run.

He needed to calm down. He needed to think. But first, he needed to get drunk.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 21  
**"Ain't Nobody's Business If I Do," Billie Holiday

It felt so strange being back in this apartment when most of her things were in Charming. Oscar had the big bedroom—her bedroom. He had nowhere else to go, and she couldn't very well put him out, so she took the smaller bedroom, which still had a daybed that her grandparents had used as a guest bed.

Nothing was right. Oscar's things were where her things should be. She had no place. Nowhere. And she was alone.

She'd been back for a few weeks—almost a month now. Fuck, it was almost Christmas. Every time she looked at her Martin, she thought about Hap. No, that was wrong. She thought about him all day; it just hurt extra when she looked at the guitar he'd bought her so sweetly. She hadn't talked to him since she'd left. She missed him so much. But she was more broken than he had patience for.

They were just about finished with the album. It looked like they would make the deadline, but it had been a rocky few weeks in the studio. Viv was rusty after months of not playing. More than that, though, she just couldn't get into it. Her vocals were lackluster. She knew it; the boys knew it. It was taking a lot of production to get everything right.

And now she'd bailed on a second meeting with label reps to talk about promoting the album. Promoting meant touring. She didn't want to go. It made her sick to think about parading on stage the way she used to. Sleeping in motels. Dealing with guys trying to fuck her.

She just couldn't do it.

Her phone was blowing up. It was Dex, wondering where she was. She turned it off and curled up under the covers on the daybed in the guest bedroom of her own fucking apartment. She'd lost control of everything. She didn't know what to do. So she curled up tight and cried.

* * *

When she came out hours later, Oscar was sitting on his couch eating a microwave burrito, watching television, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.

"What happened to you today?" He spoke with his mouth full.

She shrugged and walked into the kitchen to pour herself a tall glass of rye. She went back with her drink and sat at the other end of the couch.

"Viv, you hung us out today. We had to scramble to save the meeting. I thought Dex was going to pop a vein. You're supposed to be the front of the band. Where were you?"

"Sorry, baby. Wasn't feelin' it."

"That's lame, Viv." He finished his burrito and set the plate aside.

She shrugged again.

He scooted closer to her on the couch. She eyed him warily, but he didn't get any closer than halfway. "Maybe you should talk to somebody. See somebody."

"What, you mean a shrink? Fuck you, baby. Mind your business." She would not _ever_ entertain such an idea.

"When your business gets up in my business, _baby_, it becomes my business. I suddenly got a surly-ass roommate, and I'm about to not have work. That's all you being a flake. You need to figure your shit out."

"That's what I'm trying to do. Excuse me if it's not happening on your schedule. Asshole." She finished her drink and stood up. As she passed him, he stood and grabbed her arm. She reacted strongly, tearing her arm out of his grasp, which sent her empty glass across the room to shatter on the floor.

"Jesus! Viv, what—"

"Don't fucking touch me, Oscar. Just don't."

He stared for a second, then, "I stand by what I said. You need some help, Viv. You can barely stand to be touched. You have screaming nightmares just about every night. You can't work. Does it really look to you like you've got things handled? I'm not trying to be a dick. Not even thinking about the band right now. I'm legitimately worried about you."

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "Okay, baby. I appreciate the concern. I do. But I don't want bullshit meds fucking with my head, and I don't need to hire a friend. I have friends. And I wouldn't pick a shrink for a friend, anyway. My father was a shrink. I know from personal fuckin' experience that they're the worst pieces of shit on earth."

"You're not talking to your friends, though, Viv. Not the way you need to talk."

Enough with this. "No, Oscar. Just no. I'll deal with my shit in my way." She turned and went to clean up her mess. When she came back with the broom and dustpan, Oscar was gone; the door to the bedroom that had been hers was closed.

* * *

Dex and Sean came over the next day, and the band discussed the plans to promote the album. A tour, starting in the spring, as the opening act to an established, more successful band. Medium venues—concert halls and the like.

A national tour. For almost six months. Viv tried to force herself to make all the right noises. She needed to get back on the beam, even if she had to tie herself to it. But inside she was all panic. Dex kept looking at her sideways. She knew he knew she wasn't good with the plans. But he didn't say anything. He gave her a hug and a loaded look when he and Sean left, but he didn't say anything.

She had to figure out how to get back to her old life. She had to do it soon. If she could at all.

* * *

"Viv, shit. Viv, it's okay."

She woke and realized that Oscar was holding her—trying to, anyway. She was fighting him. She got her bearings and understood that she'd been dreaming. Her face was wet; she supposed she'd been crying.

"Damn, Viv. That shit is not normal."

He was sitting on the daybed, holding her. She pushed away, getting free of his hands as quickly as she could. "What are you doing in here?" She was out of breath.

"You were screaming bloody murder in here. Way worse than usual. Freaked me out. I came in to make sure you were okay. Figured I needed to wake you up out of whatever that was, and then you kinda went nuts." He laughed a little. "Damn, I hope the neighbors aren't calling the cops and telling them I'm down here dismembering you alive."

"Sorry. I'm okay now. You can go—thanks."

He put his hand on her face; she jerked away. "Viv, you can't do this alone. You won't see a shrink, you need to talk to someone who cares about you, then. There are lots of people who would do what they could to help you. Me, for instance."

"Thanks, Oscar. It's sweet, but—"

He cut her off. "I really do care about you, Viv. A lot."

She looked at him. He was staring back, and she knew what he was trying to tell her. She pushed him farther away. "No, Oscar. Not like that. I can't deal with the way you're looking at me. I need you to go now."

He stayed put for another couple of seconds, then he nodded. "Okay. But you're going to figure it out one of these days, Viv. You need to move on. And we'd be good, you and me. You know we would."

"Go, Oscar."

* * *

Christmas Eve. The boys were packed and headed to Tahoe. For the second year in a row, she was bailing on the trip. Way too much closeness and warm holiday cheer for her. She was taking a pass on the season this year.

Once she got them on their way, she poured herself a drink and sat on the couch, remembering last Christmas. She and Hap had had their first big fight. They'd said "I love you" for the first time. He'd bought her a new Martin.

He'd told her about his family, why Christmas was hard.

She got her phone and called him on his registered cell. It was the first time since she'd left a month ago that she'd dialed his number. It rolled to voicemail. She sat on the line trying to say something, but she couldn't. She ended the call without a word.

Fuck.

Minutes later, the front door buzzed. She approached the box with caution, hoping it wasn't someone who'd expect her to be sociable. She pushed the button. "It's Viv."

"Hey."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **Sorry for the cliffie ending the last chapter. Hope the wait is worth it. And as always, I'm humbled and profoundly grateful for the reviews and messages. Thank you, thank you.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The stuff that's not as good as that? That's mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 22:  
**"I'll Take Care of You," Bobby Blue Bland

He'd been stalking her again. He couldn't fucking stay away from her. Sitting in the damn pub across the street, watching.

She'd been gone a month. They'd had no contact in four weeks. 29 days. He'd been staying in the clubhouse, because the house was huge and empty without her in it. Stuck in his rage for the first week or so, he'd plowed through so many Crow Eaters that Jax had pulled him aside and told him to back the fuck off before he scared all the girls away. After that, he just drank himself into a stupor every night.

It was Tig, of all people, who shook him out of it. They'd been sitting at the bar in mid-December, coming down from a short but violent run. They hadn't been talking about Vivian. They hadn't been talking at all, really. Just sitting together, drinking.

Out of nowhere, Tig had turned to him and asked, "Is she really something you want to lose, man? All you two went through?"

Hap had turned and just glared at him, offended that Tig would push into his private business.

"Nah, man. Hear me out. She's your old lady. Fuck. _You_ have an old lady. _Nobody_ thought that shit would ever happen. That's gotta mean something. You just give up? Not like you, brother."

"_She_ left _me_, asshole. She fuckin' ran." That was all Hap had had to say on the subject.

Tig had recognized that the conversation was over; his only reply was, "Just sayin'."

A couple of days later, Hap rode to Berkeley. The first thing he saw was Oscar and Vivian going into her building together, carrying groceries.

Jesus Christ. He rode straight back to Charming.

But he had to know. He had to talk to her. And he didn't want to do it over the goddamn phone. So he rode back the next day. At first he watched because he wanted to try to understand what he'd be going into when he buzzed her door. She didn't come out nearly as often as she had when he'd first sat and watched. But he'd come to understand that she and Oscar were both living in that apartment. It made him furious.

But they came and went separately far more often than they did together. He eventually made room for the possibility that there wasn't anything going on. He'd have said that Vivian wasn't ready for something like that anyway, but every time that thought entered his head, so did her clutch with Dex.

He'd found himself stuck, though, unable to cross the street. He didn't understand why he didn't just go over there and confront her. Drag her back where she belonged or rid himself of her for good, one or the other. He knew it was weak to sit here and watch. It pissed him off. But he stayed put, watching. On this day, Christmas Eve, he watched Dex and Sean pick Oscar up, with luggage, and drive away. Going to Tahoe, he assumed. Without her.

Not long after that, his phone went off. It was her. He stared at it but didn't pick it up. He wanted to know what she'd say first—but the voicemail was just empty air. He stared out the window for another 60 seconds or so, and then he crossed the street.

* * *

Now he was standing in her living room. No—_Oscar's_ living room. Her fucking living room was in Charming. She looked good. Stronger. Gorgeous. She was wearing jeans—still a little loose on her—and a plain white knit sweater, her black opal pendant laying over it. Her hair was long and loose and wildly beautiful.

"What are you doing here, Hap?" she asked, by way of welcome.

At least she spoke to him. He hadn't known what to expect. He shrugged. "Needed to see you. We need to talk."

"I just tried to call you. You were already in Berkeley?"

He shrugged again. Now he was the one searching for words. Again.

Then she did something astounding. She stepped up to him and put her arms around him. He couldn't believe it at first. But she was holding him, and, after that first shock, it just about undid him. She felt so fucking good. So right. He wrapped his arms around her. Some kind of iron band across his chest just let go, and he relaxed into her, dropping his head to her shoulder. "Fuck, Vivian. Ah, fuck."

"Merry Christmas, Hap. I love you."

He turned his head and pressed his mouth to her neck, tasting her, breathing her in, clutching her even tighter. She got tense and pushed on his shoulders. "Hap—Hap, Hap. Wait. Wait. I'm not—"

He released her, muttering "Sorry." He'd relaxed too soon. He'd long ago stopped trying to figure out why she had such control over him. He loved her; it was as simple and as complicated as that. But it still vexed him to know how much power she had to fuck him up.

She put her hand on his face. Shit. Every touch felt electric. It had been more than two months since she'd touched him like this. Since before. "No, Hap. It's just—it's all still hard. But I'm glad you're here. Come sit down." She took his hand and headed to the couch.

He stood still, resisting her pull. "You with Oscar now?" He had to know. He had to know right now.

She spun back to face him. "Jesus, Hap. _No_. I'm with you."

"No. You're here. With him."

"I didn't have anywhere else to go. But I'm sleeping in there." She gestured to her guest bedroom.

The relief he felt was enormous. "You have someplace, Vivian. You're just not there."

"Hap, please sit down. You want to talk. I do, too. But it's hard, and I'm not sure how to say a lot of my part. It's gonna take some time, I think. We can't work it out right this second, standing in the middle of the room."

He thought it likely that she'd said more words to him since he buzzed her front door on this day than she had in all the time since it happened. She wasn't meeting his eyes, though. "Vivian. I can't do this if you still can't look at me. I need you to look at me."

She dropped her eyes to the floor instead. He walked up to her and took her chin in his hand. She didn't flinch away; that was an improvement, at least. He lifted her face. "Look at me, Vivian. Fuckin' look at me. This shit has got to end."

She met his eyes. He felt her tense, but he held on to her chin, and she didn't pull away. Her eyes filled with tears. He held her gaze, willing her to stay with him. "I love you. Don't think about the rest." She jumped at that and yanked herself away from him. He reached for her again, but she pulled away. "What?"

"That's what you said"—she stopped and took a shaky breath. "Can we start with something easier? I'm sorry, but that's still hard."

He stood there, trying to figure out what she meant, what he'd said to make her cringe from him again. He thought about it. Then, painful as it was, he played through the high-definition, 3D recording in his head of that awful fucking day, and he knew. It only took a few seconds. "Okay. Let's sit."

They sat quietly. Hap didn't know where to start. What he wanted was for everything to be like it was. When they were good. When they were happy. He needed her home. He needed to be able to touch her like before. He needed her to touch him.

He took her hand and watched as she linked fingers with him. "Why'd you run?" It seemed like the really important question. The only one, really.

She laughed a little, surprised. "I'm not sure that's starting with something easier. But okay, I'll try." She took a beat before she started. "I guess the real answer is I don't know." He looked up, annoyed. "I'll try to sort it out for you, but it's all still huge and messy in my head."

She took another beat. "I was hurting you so much every day. Even before I told you why I couldn't get close, but especially after. I could see how hurt you were. But I couldn't get out of my head. I couldn't get better. And you were—you had lost patience with me. You were losing control. You _did_ lose control with Dex. You really fucked him up.

Hap interrupted. "He had his fuckin' hands all over you! You wouldn't let me touch you!"

"Hap, I know." Another pause. "You know Dex is gay, right? He and Sean are together."

No, he hadn't known that. But it was beside the point. "No. But it doesn't matter. You let him touch you, when you were crawling out of your skin if I came near you. Christ, Vivian. That hurt so fuckin' much." He sat back and closed his eyes, shoving away the memory of Dex holding her, what it had felt like to see it.

"I'm so sorry. But that's what I mean. It made you crazy. Literally. And I was scared. So much shit has been tangled up in my head, and I couldn't deal with violence from you. I tried—I went to the clubhouse to find you, to explain—and I saw you with that girl—"

He sat up and cut her off again. "I'm sorry. I was—I don't know. Reacting to seeing Dex have what I couldn't. I was just reacting. I'm sorry." He wondered if he was going to end up having to explain about the others. For now, he kept quiet.

"It's not so much that you were getting blown—though yeah, that was awful. It's what you were doing to her. You were hurting her. You were scaring her. You didn't care. And then you just looked at me, like you didn't care about me, what I'd seen. Gemma told me that you were known to be rough with the club girls—"

"She did _what_?" Jesus Christ. Meddlesome bitch. To say something like that to _his old lady_?

She ignored his interruption. "It didn't really surprise me—not much, anyway. I've known there was something rough and dark in you like that since that first night in Carson City." She made a dry little huff. "I guess I even felt special because you'd never treated me that way. But I'm trying to say that seeing you like that was way too fucking close. And seeing you turn that look on me was just too much. It made you like them."

He didn't know what to say to that, but fuck, it hurt.

"So, that's why I left. It's was just the biggest knot in the tangle in my head. A huge knot I couldn't deal with at all." She sat back as if she were exhausted. Then she turned and looked him right in the eye. "It's all part of the bigger problem, which is that I haven't been able to separate you from what happened. That's all of it, really. Summed up in one awful sentence."

He got up from the couch. It was an awful sentence, alright. Mostly because there was so much truth in it. He wanted to say he would _never_ do to a woman what had been done to her. Certainly not an innocent. But he was the one who would do whatever the club needed him to do. Even Tig hesitated where he would not.

It's why they'd ended up in that concrete room in the first place. Because he'd crossed a new line in the service of his club. He'd hurt an innocent. A small child. Tig had balked when the time came. He had not. He'd forced it to make sense in his head by telling himself it was the job. He'd been serving his club. He was sure the Lobos—the soldiers, anyway, the ones who'd actually touched Vivian—had done the same.

Hap didn't see Crow Eaters as innocents. There was something they wanted from the Sons. They were players in the game. They made the choice to be there, and they knew what was expected of them. But he knew he'd been especially rough with them lately. Rough enough for Jax to call him out. And that was no mean feat.

What was different was Vivian. He was not that man with Vivian. She made him better. She made him care. He turned to look at her. She was sitting with her legs folded under her, waiting. Fuck, he loved her. He needed to make her see him again as the man he was with her.

"I'm not like the men who hurt you. Not with you. Not when I have you. I need you to believe me."

"I do believe you. But you're like that without me?" She looked calm, but pointed.

He didn't want to answer that question. He couldn't think of an answer other than yes, but he sure as fuck didn't want to say that. Finally, he shrugged. He pointed to his "Unholy Ones" patch. "See this? It means I've done whatever the club needed, no question. I never thought further than that."

"And if the club needed you to do to somebody what was done to me?"

The thought made him ill, and he didn't see how he was getting out of this conversation without making things worse between them. And he still didn't know if she'd heard the Lobo when he'd talked about the little boy, the reason they were there. He took a moment and considered his words.

"The Sons have honor, Vivian. We'd never do something like that. We'd take the hit first." He wasn't so sure it was true. He thought again about that little boy. Clay had to have known about the family. He'd told them to get the intel, to be ready to get very dirty. He wasn't sure Clay _would_ have taken the hit. Jax had that kind of honor, but, since Ope's brutal death, he also had blind rage.

Then Hap realized that it didn't matter whether the club would ask him to do such a thing.

He walked over and knelt in front of her. "But the answer is no. I wouldn't do it. Vivian, honey, I would have given anything and everything to get you out of that room. To save you and Katherine. If I could have, I would have done whatever it took to save you both."

She was crying quietly; he took her hands in his and kissed them. "I love you. I need you. You make me better. Fuck, Vivian. I've been fucking lost since you left. I need you to see _me_, not them. I need you to see the man you make me. I need you to come home."

"Hap, I'm still really fucked up. Not much has changed. Being touched is hard. Talking like this takes work. I still think about what happened all the time. I'm lost, too. I test your patience when things are _good_. I can't deal with you being angry with me, but I'm not sure I'm ready to do the things you need from me. It's not like everything will just be better if I come back."

"I know. I _know_. But we can't fix it apart." He didn't want to push her too hard; he felt closer to her in this moment than he had since it happened, and he didn't want to lose that. But he didn't want to leave this apartment without her. He couldn't go back alone.

He got up from the floor and sat next to her on the couch. He realized that the room was getting dim; evening was coming on them. "Why don't we take a break, go out and get something to eat."

She smiled and laughed a little, just a relieved exhale of breath. "You askin' me out on a date, Lowman?"

Glad for her lightheartedness, he grinned and put his hand on her cheek. She didn't flinch. "I guess I am. You in?"

"I'm in. Feed me."

He wanted to kiss her, but he was afraid she might pull away. Instead, he stood and offered her his hand. She took it and let him help her up.

"Get your jacket; we're going for a ride."

* * *

He took her to a biker bar in Marin, about an hour's ride—an hour in which her arms were wrapped around him. It was a place that Leather played pretty often. They were open on Christmas Eve, and by coincidence, friends of Vivian's were playing that night. They ended up staying through the band's first set and hanging with them during their break. She sat next to him, relaxing into him when he put his arm around her. He was having the best day he'd had in months.

It was the first time they'd been out in such a public way since before it happened. She was a lot different than she usually was in a place like that. Usually she worked the room, even if she wasn't performing. Now, she folded into herself a little. She was bright and engaging with the people she knew, but she wasn't interested in even making eye contact with anyone she didn't. She'd always been aware of the way people looked at her. She'd never been arrogant about it, but she'd liked it, he knew. Not anymore. Not now, anyway.

Still, it was a good time. Hap found he was more relaxed because her presence in the room was smaller, though he was also even more protective and vigilant. Before, she welcomed the attention she got, and he dealt with powerful jealousy. Now, he felt no need to be jealous, but he would have laid anyone out who gave her even the slightest attention she didn't want. Laid them out hard.

They got back to her apartment late. He had a bad moment when he thought she might leave him on the street, but she brought him up. They stood in the living room awkwardly until he took her hand and said, "Vivian, I want to stay. With you."

She looked at the floor. "Hap, I'm not ready—"

"I know. Only to hold you. Just hold you while you sleep." He tipped her chin up. "Look at me, honey. Let me hold you."

After a long, painful pause, she nodded and led him into the guest bedroom.

She changed into a t-shirt and yoga pants, standing behind the closet door, shielding herself from his gaze. He stripped to his boxers and waited. When she came around the door and saw him, she stopped short for a second. Then she turned back the comforter and got into bed. She turned her back to him. He understood that she wanted to spoon—and that she wanted to be turned away from him.

He decided to focus on how close she'd be, and not on her continuing reluctance to look at him.

The prospect of finally being close to her like this again had him rock hard, so when he climbed in behind her on the narrow bed, he kept his hips well back from her. He slid an arm under her neck and brought the other around to rest his hand on her belly.

She was shaking as if she were freezing. It certainly had a chilling effect on his erection, and, when it was safe, he pulled her closer. "Shh, honey. Shhh. Not gonna do anything but this." He caressed her hip and thigh slowly, gentling her.

"I'm sorry, Hap. I can't." She started to pull away, but he held her where she was. She gasped and tensed even more.

"You can. You're strong. Stay with me, Vivian. Don't give up. Stay." She slowly stopped resisting.

By Hap's count, they lay like that—her shaking, him holding her snugly and whispering calming words—for almost an hour before she fully relaxed. Eventually, she managed to fall asleep.

* * *

He came awake when her body tensed again. By his next heartbeat, she was thrashing and screaming, fighting against him. Christ. The nightmares still. He held her firmly and said in her ear, "Vivian. Vivian, wake up. It's okay. You're okay." Still flailing, she popped him hard in the face. He brought his arm down over hers and held her even tighter. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." Finally, she woke fully.

Getting her bearings, she still tried to pull free. "Hap, I need—"

He held fast. "I'm not letting you go, honey. Stay with me."

She slowly settled and lay still for a little while, breathing heavily. Then she put her hands on the forearm he had snug across her chest. She held his arm and curled around it, weeping—deep, wrenching sobs. "Fuck, Hap. I can't stand feeling like this anymore. I can't take it. I can't. I can't."

"God, honey." He held her tight and kissed the side of her head. He felt powerless against her pain. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She cried herself back to sleep, curled inside the shell of his body. He stayed awake for a long time after, guarding her from the dark.

* * *

When next he woke, it was daylight, and she was stirring, her ass pressed much too firmly against him. He was hard and aching, and his hips moved against hers in a reflex, before he was fully awake. He quickly pulled back from her, whispering, "Careful, honey."

She moaned a little and pushed back again. He put his hand on her hip and held her away. She couldn't mean to be doing this, but it was still fucking unfair. "Vivian, you awake? You need to settle down."

She pushed against his hold and turned her head so he could see her profile. "Hap. Hap, I want—I—I want you to." He could hear the fear in her voice.

"No. No, you don't. You need to wake up or something." His own need was huge. He didn't know how much of this he could take.

"That's what I want. I want you to wake me up. Please, Hap." She brought her arm up over her head, putting her hand on his head and bringing him closer. "Please." Then she put her hands under the covers and wiggled out of her yoga pants. Her bare ass was right up against him.

Jesus Christ. That was more than he could take. He pulled himself out of his boxers and brought her as close as he could get her. "Oh, fuck, Vivian. Fuck."

But she was shaking so hard she was practically rattling _his_ teeth. He ran his hands over her, trying again to gentle her, like before. Then, still shaking hard, she brought her top leg back to rest on his, opening herself to him.

He was pulled hard in two opposing directions. He wanted her so fucking bad he was almost insensible with need, but she was so scared. Too scared. This couldn't be what she wanted, and he definitely didn't want her to be afraid of him.

She whispered again, "Please, Hap."

He put his hand between her legs. She tensed and made a little sob. She was dry. His cock deflated. He couldn't. Not like this.

"Not when you're so scared. We need to wait."

She sobbed again. "No. I don't want to wait." She spit in her hand and rubbed it between her legs.

"Vivian, stop."

Then she grabbed the back of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head. Her hair came up, too, and she caught it before it fell back, pulling it up to lay over the pillow. Her bare back was exposed to him.

His mark on her, the crow spreading its wings across her shoulder blades, his name on a heart in its claws.

He leaned in and kissed the ink reverently. He hardened at once, and he pushed inside her with a wrenching groan. "Christ. Jesus Christ."

She whimpered, and he stopped. He didn't move until she did, pushing back against him; then he started to rock his hips. She felt different, almost unfamiliar, but still so goddamn fucking good. He wasn't going to last long.

He started to pick up the pace. She was mostly quiet—moaning a little, but he couldn't tell if they were good moans or bad. "Is this okay? Are you okay?" he whispered in her ear. She didn't answer, but after a second or two, she nodded slightly.

He wanted her to come, too. Christ, he wanted that so bad. But he could tell she wasn't going to. He moved his hand down to her clit, but she grabbed it before it got there and brought it back to her belly.

He felt like a fucking teenager, but the need was on him and he couldn't master it, the heat spreading through him while the pressure grew and focused at the base of his cock. "Fuck, Vivian, I can't—"

She pushed hard against him, and that was it. He held her hip as he came, trying not to slam into her too hard. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder, groaning against the wing on her skin.

He pulled out gently, and they lay quietly for a few minutes, both of them breathing heavily.

Then she started to cry.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Hookay. Maybe into some uncomfortable territory here. Nothing at all like Chapter 17, but now I'm feeling a little shell-shocked, so I'd rather err on the side of caution. I think what happens early on in this chapter is in character and consistent with where these two are right now (elsewise I wouldn't have written it), but it might be a smidge squirmy for a minute.

I thought for a long time about whether Happy would push this hard. Yes. I think he would. Again, I wouldn't have written it if I didn't think so.

If you disagree or don't like it, I understand, but please, no hate, no threats. I'm just trying to tell a story. You don't need to read it if you don't like it.

A great big thank you to those who continue to support me as I try. Really.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The other stuff is all my fault.

* * *

**CHAPTER 23:  
**"All Your Love," Norah Jones

"Fuck. I knew we shouldn't—I'm sorry. Dammit."

Viv was crying too hard to respond, but he was wrong. So she rolled over, turning into him, facing him, pressing her nude body to his, closing the final distance between them. He flinched a little, surprised, and then he pulled her close and held her tight with a groan. "God, honey."

"I miss you. I miss you so much, Hap." She was still crying, but she pressed small kisses to his chest and neck, clutching him to her. Something had given way inside her. She wanted to be swallowed up in him. She felt desperate for it.

He put his hand on her cheek and pulled her away from his chest. He was staring down at her, his eyes fiery with longing. She met his look, and she muscled back her anxiety until all she felt was her love for him. He leaned down to kiss her. They hadn't kissed in months. She pulled back as a thrill of fear overtook her. He stopped.

"Vivian?" She nodded, and he brought his lips to hers. He kissed her lightly, chastely at first, brushing his lips softly against hers. She needed more. She needed all of him. So she opened her mouth and pressed firmly against him. He groaned deeply and responded, his tongue plunging into her. He still held her head, and now his hand was tense around her face, his fingers curled in her hair.

He pulled back with a gasp. "Fuck. Vivian, I just—I need—." He was panting. She put her hands around his face and pulled him back, kissing him with the same passion he'd shown her.

With a groan, he rolled them over so that he was on top of her, between her legs. She felt his erection on her. And then she was terrified again, and she cried out and cringed.

He stilled, but he didn't move off, even though she was pushing on his shoulders now, getting frantic. Propped on his elbows, he cradled her face in his hands. "Vivian, wait. Shh. You want this. Don't give up. Look at me. Look at me."

She stopped pushing and tried to relax, but she was overcome with fear and revulsion, and she was shaking so hard it felt like her brain was scrambling. She didn't want to look at him. She couldn't see anything but that room.

"Look at me." She forced herself to look. She couldn't make herself relax.

"Please, Hap. I can't. I can't."

"I love you, Vivian." He leaned down and kissed her lightly. "You can."

She was distracted by the pressure of his cock between her legs. It was too much, too close, too—

He leaned down and kissed her neck, little kisses from the base of her throat to her jaw and back to her lips. He looked down at her again. "What do you see?"

Then he shifted and pushed into her, and she took a deep, shaky, sobbing breath. "Hap, I can't!"

"You can. Look at me." He pushed deep, but slowly, gently. "I love you." He pulled back out, until only his tip was inside her. When he pushed back in, she couldn't hold back a sob.

She knew what he was trying to do, but she wasn't ready; this was more than she could handle. "Hap, please."

He stopped and looked down at her. "I'll stop. God, I wouldn't force you."

"You _are_ forcing me!" She was losing the battle against panic; she felt sick to her stomach. She needed to get away.

He shifted his arms to lean up a few inches higher, but he still didn't pull out of her. She was panting and crying. "Honey, wait. Shhhh. I won't hurt you. I _will_ stop, if that's what you want. But maybe facing it is the thing you need. Turning away isn't working. I'm not them, Vivian. Look at _me_. Trust me."

In the midst of her fear, she uncovered a small reserve of strength. She could still feel and hear and smell that horrible room, but she locked onto his eyes and shoved the rest of it away, at least enough to try. She tried to take a breath. "Okay. Okay."

He pushed slowly in and out of her, inch by inch, for a long time. She focused on seeing only him, and on finding calm, until she felt a little tickle of something. That tickle focused her, reoriented her, and she felt the cold tension coiling up her spine start to ease. She let out a long breath and relaxed.

"Good girl. Do you see me?" His voice was strained. She did see him. She nodded. He kissed her, lingering, teasing her lips with his tongue. She opened to him, and he groaned.

After a long time spent kissing deeply as he moved patiently inside her, she realized it felt good, and she wrapped her legs around him. He grunted and pulled back, looking down at her. "Okay?"

She tried on a smile. "Okay, I think. Yeah."

He smiled back. "Good girl. You think you can come?" He pushed more deeply, with a little more force, as he asked.

She didn't know. It all felt different, even now that she was calming down. Good, but different. The doctor had told her there was scarring; she assumed that's why places that had been sensitive no longer were. But the tickle had grown into pleasure. "I don't know."

"Am I hurting you?"

If he'd been hurting her, she'd be several blocks down Telegraph by now. "No. It's just different."

"You feel different to me, too. I want to try, though. Okay?" She nodded. But then he pulled out and started to shift downward. He wanted to go down on her, but that was definitely more than she could handle.

"Hap, no!" She said it sharply, the panic back in a flash. He looked up, brow furrowed. She took a breath and looked for calm again. "I need you up here with me."

She could tell that he understood, and he came back up, face to face with her. He kissed her, then moved down to her breasts. As he sucked a nipple into his mouth, she thought about her baby. She set the thought away for later and let herself feel his mouth on her. That was good. She flexed her hips slightly. Hap picked up on that and put his hand between her legs to massage her clit. She kept breathing.

He was gentle, and it took him a while to find a way to stimulate her now, but he found it, and when he did, she gasped. He pulled away from her breast and looked up, checking. She nodded, and he went back to his task.

It felt good, it did, but she couldn't get over. She finally stilled his hand. He shifted and slid back into her.

"Okay?" he asked. She nodded and pulled him down for a kiss.

He moved deeply but still slowly until again she wrapped her legs around him, moaning softly. Then he started to pick up the pace, still being careful, not moving too forcefully. His arms were shaking. She flexed on him, and he groaned again. "I don't think I can hold off much longer," he rasped.

As nice as it felt, she wasn't going to come. Maybe she just _couldn't_ anymore. "It's okay; don't hold off. Come in me. Please."

He looked down at her for a couple more thrusts, then groaned deeply again and let himself go. When he was spent, he relaxed on top of her, panting. "Sorry, honey. You okay?"

She held him close. "Yeah. Don't be sorry. I'm glad. Lord, Hap. We just had sex. _Twice_."

He chuckled, nuzzling her neck. "We sure as hell did." Then he pulled out and rolled off, bringing her with him as he lay on his back. She nestled under his arm and laid her head on his chest.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Viv picked up the thought she'd had about the baby. She never tried to cast those thoughts away entirely, as painful as they were. They were all she had.

As if she'd been sending out some kind of vibe about the subject, Hap said, "We didn't use anything. You back on the Pill?"

She turned in his arms; he shifted to his side to face her. "No. But it doesn't matter. You know it doesn't."

And then, suddenly, tears were on her again and she was sobbing, overwhelmed by the loss of their little girl. There was a hole in her, deep and raw-edged, filled now with the ghosts of memories of living with a life inside her, of toes and fingers, arms and legs felt but somehow only imagined, as if she'd been nothing more than a figment. Viv's body and mind had been primed for motherhood, but she'd woken from a nightmare, her arms as empty as her womb. Eternally empty, now.

Hap held her, stroking her hair. They'd never talked about this loss in anything but the most stilted terms. Now, through her tears, she said, "I think about her all day long. I miss her so much—feeling her moving inside me, talking to her. I miss waiting for her to be here. Hap, it's so hard."

He didn't say anything, but Viv felt and heard him sob, once. Hap never cried. She leaned back and tried to look at him, but he tucked his head into her shoulder and pulled her back again, holding her tight. She went willingly, pressing her face against his chest, and let her grief completely loose. She sobbed in his arms until she was out of tears. He held her tight and stroked her lovingly.

When she was calm again, she pushed back a little, and this time he let her go. She looked up at him; his eyes were rimmed with red. She put her hand on his face, smoothing her thumb over his damp cheekbone with wonder. He pulled away. She said nothing, but she understood, maybe for the first time, that the depth of his sorrow and loss was like her own.

"I thought she'd be beautiful. Was she beautiful? Did you see her?"

For several seconds, he just looked at her. She couldn't read his expression, but then he rolled away from her and leaned over the edge of the bed. She didn't understand what he was doing, where he was going. "Hap?"

He came back with his wallet, still chained to his jeans. He opened it and pulled out a photograph, frayed slightly around its edges, as if it had been slid repeatedly out of its place. She still didn't understand, but he handed it to her. What she saw was Hap, sitting in a chair, a cast on his arm. He was wearing green hospital scrubs. He was looking down at a beautiful little baby, wrapped in a pink blanket, lying with her head on his cast, his other hand protectively covering her chest. She looked like she was sleeping. She had lots of black hair and creamy olive skin. Like her daddy's. And her mama's. Her features were tiny and perfect, like a china doll.

She didn't even wonder why or how this photo was taken or why he'd kept it to himself. She sobbed, "Oh, God, Hap. She was perfect. She looked like her daddy."

"Fuck no. She was you."

Holding the photo flat against her chest, she leaned into him again and wept more, plumbing a new reservoir of grief. She wept until she fell asleep, curled into her man, holding the photo of their dead child to her heart.

* * *

She woke with a start sometime later, and felt Hap's arms tighten protectively around her. He whispered, "Shh, I got you." She didn't think she'd been dreaming, and she was able to relax into him.

The dream she had daily, repeatedly, in varying forms, was a disembodied reliving of that horrific day, with the worst parts, the things that she'd felt and seen most vividly, magnified and replayed in a loop. Pain and fear and blood. And Hap, watching, his face dripping blood. Sometimes the dream was only pain, and him watching. If she could get rid of the dream, she thought she might be able to look at him again without first forcing it away.

He rolled over onto his back and settled her at his side. "You doing okay?"

Her head on his chest, she nodded. "You?"

He chuckled. "Damn sight better than I thought I'd be. Merry Christmas, by the way."

That's right. It was Christmas. She lifted her head and looked at him. Really looked at him. She felt just the barest twinge of anxiety and almost wept again, with relief. "Merry Christmas. You're a pretty good present."

He smiled at her and combed his fingers through her hair. "You, too." They held each other's gaze for a beat or two longer, then he said, "You hungry?"

She wasn't, and she wasn't ready to lose this closeness they hadn't had in so long. "Not really. You?"

He shrugged. "I can wait." She settled back down on him, her fingers lazily tracing the ink on his chest. She leaned back to look at the photo of Katherine again.

After several minutes of companionable quiet, she rose up to face him. She handed him the photo, and he leaned over to grab his wallet and put it carefully away. When he settled back, she asked, "Can I ask you for some advice?"

He laughed and gave her a look. "You want _advice_? From me? Hell just froze."

She punched him lightly in the gut. "No, really. I have something big to figure out, and I can't work it out on my own."

"Bigger than all this?"

"No. Nothing's bigger than this. But big." She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. "I think I want to leave the band."

He reacted more strongly, with more shock, than she expected. He jerked, then shifted to sit up more. "What? Why?"

She pushed off of him and sat up, facing him, tucking the sheet around her chest. "It's complicated, but I just can't get my head into it. We finished the album, but that was hard. I sucked—they had to produce the shit out of my last stuff. But it's done." She looked down. "And now we're supposed to go out on a national tour in March. Just under six months on the road."

He sat fully up. "_What_?"

Adrenaline shot through her blood, and she cowered. She couldn't deal with him losing his shit right now. "Hap, please don't be mad. Please. I can't deal with that."

She saw him take a slow, calming breath. "I'm not mad, honey. But I just—we—" he sighed again. "I just got you back."

"I know. But even before this, I didn't want to go. I can't stand the thought of parading around on stage, having people look at me, singing songs like that to strangers. The way guys come up on me. It makes me sick and scared. I don't want to do it."

"You know I hate that shit. So don't do it. Don't go." He took her hand. "Stay with me."

"I could probably get out of the contract because of what happened to me. But it leaves the boys so fucking high and dry, and we'd be on the hook for the album production—money we do _not_ have."

Hap was looking at her intently, but she couldn't read him. She continued, "If I could get through this one tour, our contract would be fulfilled. We could walk away from the option, if the label even wanted to pick it up. Then I could figure out what I want. And if I did want out, I wouldn't fuck the boys over so bad. But the thought of going all over the country for almost six months—it makes me sick. I don't know what to do. I can't figure it out."

Still he was just looking at her. She was getting more nervous with every passing second. "Hap, say something."

"What if I went with you? Went Nomad for six months and came with you? Would that help you?"

She was stunned. "You'd do that? You said you hated riding Nomad."

Shrugging, he said, "I did it for my mom. When she needed me. I did it for family." He leaned in close, his hand on her cheek. "I'd do it for my wife."

She heard the word, but she wasn't sure whether he meant "wife" as synonymous with "old lady" or whether he was actually proposing to her. They'd had that discussion already. She hadn't wanted the stupid piece of paper. She knew, though, that the stupid piece of paper would have helped when she was hurt. "What?"

"Marry me, Vivian."

She thought for a minute. "I know not being married really made things a mess in the hospital."

Now he had both hands around her face, his fingers threaded into her hair. "Fuck the legal shit. I want you to be my wife. I love you. Marry me because you love me."

"Hap, you didn't just fuck me straight. I'm still a mess. Everything I said yesterday is still true. It's all really hard, and I can't deal with you getting angry."

"I know. I'll keep my cool. Just keep talking to me. Keep trying. Don't shut me out. Stay with me. If you stay with me, we'll be okay."

She looked at him, holding his eyes. She still had to push anxiety away, but she saw his love for her clearly—she saw, too, his need. She didn't know what to say. God, she loved him so much. She wanted him to be right; she wanted them to be okay. But even though they were lying together in bed, naked, after sex—which she'd thought would never happen again—there was so much that was still wrong. With her. With them. It seemed crazy to get married in the middle of all this.

But it wasn't crazy—or, if it was, it was the right kind of crazy. She was his. He'd marked more than her skin. She wanted to be with him. She wanted him to take care of her. She'd never loved like this; even in the throes of terror and agony, she felt the steely core of their love. It was why she was still alive—why she'd survived that room, and why she'd survived the black times after it. His love had saved her. It was still saving her.

She'd been quiet for a couple of minutes, and concern was emerging in his eyes. "Vivian?"

She smiled. "Just the courthouse, though. No big deal. Let's just do it. Let's just be married."

His relief blazed out in his grin. He pulled her down onto his chest and kissed her. "Fine with me. Let's go home."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **Thanks, as usual, for the great feedback. You guys rock my world. :)

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 24:  
**"Sweet Jane," Cowboy Junkies (I know the original Velvet Underground version is superior overall, but this version works better here.)

Hap watched her sleep, careful to be still. She'd come home with him on Christmas Day. She'd spent three nights now in their bed, in their bedroom, but this was the first time she'd slept. The room had powerful ghosts for her. Until a few days ago, she'd never told him why she couldn't sleep in here. He'd thought it was him. He'd thought she couldn't be in the same bed with him.

And that had been true, too, before. But when he brought her home and she still stopped at the threshold to this room, panicked, even after the breakthrough they'd had in Berkeley, they'd finally talked. It was the men who'd been in here, who'd taken them, yanking her naked from their bed. That memory loomed over this room.

She didn't feel safe. Of course she didn't. She hadn't _been_ safe. He'd promised he would keep her safe, but he'd let her get taken—and she'd been taken _because_ of him.

He punched those broody thoughts in the face and shoved them out of his mind. What was important was that she was back with him, really back, and she was trying. She was trying so hard now that she'd refused to go back to the couch when he suggested it. She'd refused to let him take her to the clubhouse, or to a motel, or anywhere else they could sleep together. She'd said she wanted her bed back, her house back, her life back.

"God, Hap. I want to get some fucking _control_ back," she'd sobbed.

Exhausted, she'd finally settled into an uneasy sleep this third night. He'd dozed some, too, coming fully alert every time she twitched or jumped, which was often. But it was progress.

The first two nights, they'd lain together in their bed, awake all night, napping during the days as they could. They'd talked and made slow, quiet love, Hap reacquainting himself with her body, which was unfamiliar to him in some ways. She'd kept him at such a distance that the changes were still new to him.

Her hips were fuller, but she was thinner, too, than he was used to—angles and edges where there hadn't been before. And scars. In addition to her surgical scars, her body was a fucking atlas of the abuse she'd endured at the hands of men—her father, the tweaker, and, Christ, the Lobos.

And those were just the scars he could see. She'd been torn the fuck up inside, too, so much that Katherine would be their only child. So much that she felt different around his cock. So much that it didn't look like she could orgasm anymore. He'd attended to her as much as she'd let him, and, though it took awhile, he could get her into it. He could get her wet, though not like before. But he couldn't get her off.

He didn't know if it was all physical or how much might be mental. She wouldn't let him go down on her, saying that she needed him closer. He understood. But he was determined to find a way to make her come.

He knew he should just be glad she was letting him be so close to her again. It was early days yet in their reconnection. But he wanted back what they'd had. He wanted it all back. He wanted his fiery, uninhibited, talkative lover. He wanted their unrestrained passion. He wanted to be able to grab her and put her up against a wall and shove hard into her and have her love it and scream for more. He didn't want her to have to concentrate to enjoy his touch. He wanted her sassy ease with him.

He wanted Vivian whole. He wanted their daughter. He wanted that life.

He wanted everything that had been taken.

He knew it was impossible, but he wanted it all back.

* * *

Near dawn, she woke screaming and flailing, and she fought him hysterically when he first took hold of her. He had to lie on her and hold her down to get her to focus and shake off her terror. But this time, when she calmed, she didn't cry. She looked at him, panting, and said, "I'm okay. I'm okay." When he leaned down to kiss her, she kissed him back. Then she rolled to her side under him, shifting them into a spoon, and eventually relaxed into a light doze.

He thought that was progress, too.

* * *

They got married at the county courthouse a couple of days into the new year, Hap in his jeans and kutte, a SAMCRO t-shirt under it, Viv in a red dress with a full skirt and a low back. And the sexiest fucking red high heels Hap had ever seen. They needed a witness, so Hap recruited Tig. They invited no one else. The other couples in line to get married cast worried or censorious looks their way. Hap just stared them all down. He'd give 'em something to worry about, if that's what they wanted.

She gave him her grandfather's plain, wide gold band. They'd had to have it stretched a little, but now it fit perfectly. He didn't have a family ring for her; his grandmother had been wearing hers when she died in the fire, and his mother had sold her ring long ago. He wouldn't have wanted to give Vivian the ring his piece of shit father had bought, anyway. So he'd bought her a ring from a vintage jeweler in Stockton, gold with square diamonds set in a row around the band.

A few minutes, a couple of signatures, and they were married. He was married. He had a wife.

Holy fuck.

When they came out of the courthouse, the rest of SAMCRO was arrayed on their bikes, in a semi-circle around the entrance. They revved their engines and cheered.

Hap grabbed her and kissed her breathless, and his brothers cheered some more. She came up laughing.

* * *

There was a party at the clubhouse that night—Gemma was throwing one whether they wanted it or not. They went home beforehand, and Hap took his wife to bed. She let him undress her. She usually didn't, so he took his time and savored the experience, starting with those un-fucking-believable shoes. He slid them off her lovely feet, her toenails polished a bright red, and he kissed the floral tattoo on her right foot. Belladonna. Deadly nightshade. His woman had made some interesting body art choices.

He kissed his way from her arch to above her knee, when he felt her tense a little. So he repeated his path on her left leg. Then he pulled her back to her feet and unzipped her dress, sliding it off her shoulders and down her arms. She let it drop and stepped out of it. He unhooked her pendant and laid it on the dresser.

She wearing some kind of black corset thing underneath, which he loved but didn't completely understand. She smiled and started to unhook a bunch of tiny hooks down the front, hidden under a lace panel. He moved her hands and picked up where she left off. He released her from its hold and took her breasts in his hands. He leaned down and first kissed the two scars on her right nipple, small dots about an inch apart. She had marks like this in several places. Terrible places. He pushed aside the memory, the knowledge of what it took for those scars to happen.

The first time he'd kissed her scars like this, she'd cringed away from him, but now she'd come to expect him to pay homage to her in this way. Then he took her nipple in his mouth and suckled her. She arched back and sighed with a little moan.

He laid her on the bed and pulled her black thong off. He was still dressed, so he stripped while she watched. He lay down next to her and ran his hands over her torso and legs. They'd progressed in just over a week to the point that she was rarely tense or scared during sex. He knew the things she wasn't ready for him to do, and as long as he stayed clear of those, she was open and into it. But she was still reserved, letting him lead entirely. Before Vivian, that's what he'd preferred—a woman who'd just shut up and do what he told her. He wouldn't tolerate anything else, in fact. But he liked the fight for control that had so often been a feature of sex with Vivian. He missed it.

He rolled to his back and pulled her with him so that she was lying on his chest. She rose up on her forearms and looked at him, a question in her eyes.

He brushed her hair back. "I want you to ride me, honey."

She was quiet for a few seconds, clearly undecided and a little anxious. He waited, running his hand softly over her shoulder. Then she leaned down, kissed his chest, and straddled him.

She sat across his thighs first and put her hands around his cock. _Fuck, yeah_. He pushed his hips toward her as she lightly ran her hands over and around his length. She touched him like that, lightly, all over, her fingers tracing his length, wrapping gently around him, until he couldn't take it anymore. "Vivian, fuck. I need to be in you."

She scooted up and grasped him, sinking down slowly on him. She was wet; he slid easily in. His eyes rolled back. He put his hands around her hips, but he didn't lead. He let her take it. At first she was still, trailing her fingers over his ink—the snake that dominated his chest, his smiley faces, her mark low on his abdomen, the myriad images that covered his skin. Then she put her hands on his pecs. She took his nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and pinched. He grunted hard and arched up. Groaning, he surged up into her before he could stop himself.

She started to move. She rocked on him, keeping a steady pace. Resisting the urge to take over and move faster, he rubbed his hands up and down her thighs, faster and faster. Finally she moaned softly and sped up. He kept his eyes on her, wanting to see if and when her pleasure shifted into overdrive. He was struggling to maintain control of his own pleasure, which was ready to go.

"Christ, honey, I can't hold off much longer."

She stopped. He grabbed her hips and tried to move her, but she resisted. "Don't hold off. It's not gonna happen. I'm broken, Hap. This has to be good enough. Please let it be good enough."

He wasn't about to admit defeat, but he understood that he was putting pressure on her, and he didn't want that. He sat up and held her close. "Just want be with you. That's enough. I want to give you more, but this is all I need. Okay?" She nodded and started moving again. He pressed his face against her chest and let her bring him off.

* * *

She wasn't in the room when he came out of the shower. He didn't have a good reason for that to worry him, but it did, so he wrapped the towel around his waist and went looking for her. He found her in the baby's room, standing at the crib he'd bought. She had on the SAMCRO t-shirt he'd worn earlier. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She didn't flinch. Even in this sad room, he felt a thrill of happiness that he could touch her again.

She put her hand on his. "I guess we should do something about this room. Turn it into something else. Give this stuff away." Her voice was small.

He knew it was irrational, but he wanted to leave it as it was. "Honey, we don't have to figure that out today. Not the day we got married." He pulled a little on her shoulder, asking her to turn around. She did.

She dropped her forehead to his chest and put her arms around his waist. "I look at this room and see what a great dad you would have been."

He felt that like a kick to his chest. "Don't, Vivian. Let's get out of here." His throat felt tight. He led her out and closed the door.

He'd always liked kids. He enjoyed having Jax's boys, Abel and Thomas, in the clubhouse. He liked playing Uncle Happy, making them laugh. But it had never occurred to him that he might be a father. Fatherhood hadn't even factored into his decision to convince Vivian to get pregnant. He'd wanted something to tie her to him, to keep her off the road. It was about his need for her. The child was incidental. But then they'd talked about it, and he'd promised he'd be a good father. It had started him thinking—what would that be? His own father was no example. A drunk, a deadbeat, and a cheat. And then gone. He wanted to be better than that, to be steady. A good provider. Loyal.

When she'd gotten pregnant, and right away, he'd found himself thinking about that baby all the time. And then they'd found out she was a little girl. Hap's imagination was unleashed. He saw a beautiful miniature Vivian careening around his life, with long, wild hair and wide, fierce, dark eyes. He imagined her running to him when he came in, and lifting her into his arms. Teaching her about Harleys. Teaching her to draw. Watching her learn music from her mom. Watching her learn to be brave and strong from them both. Scaring away all the boys who came sniffing around. He was utterly besotted. He never even told Vivian. He just started building his little girl's life for her.

A life she never had. The hole she'd left behind was bottomless in him.

He didn't want to erase her from this room.

* * *

By SAMCRO standards, the party Gemma threw for their marriage was small: the Sons, their families, several of the more established Crow Eaters (hopefully—probably—none of whom were part of Hap's rampage), and Vivian's band. Her "boys" had not been thrilled to learn that she'd returned to Charming and planned to marry him, but she and Dex had had a long talk. Considering the way Dex was looking at him, Hap didn't think the drummer had actually _come around_, but they'd worked something out. The tour was on; Hap was going with them. The whole band had sat down and decided to see what happened with the album and make some decisions about their future when the tour was over.

So everyone was on decent terms. Decent enough, anyway, for the party. Hap had never had a big problem with Dex until that day in the music room. Dex had been the one with the problem, and he had a bigger problem now. Hap had changed Dex's face permanently that day, leaving scars, requiring dental work, and warping the line of his nose. So he was not happy with Vivian's decision. But he loved her, and she'd convinced him that this is what she really wanted, so he was being civil. Hap respected that. He didn't think he was capable of that kind of equanimity.

Having had no idea that Dex and Sean were a couple, he watched them at the party. He still wouldn't have known. He brought it up with Vivian in a quiet moment, and she laughed at him. "Hap, they play in a blues band. They live their lives in roughneck bars. They're not big with the PDA. 'Cause, you know, they like their hides intact. What, you want Sean to blow Dex up against the wall, just line up with Tig and whatever skank he snagged?"

"The mouth on you, woman. It was just a question." He loved her answer, in fact. It was full of sass. He didn't see that much these days.

Oscar was getting some attention from the girls. Hap was fine with that. Get that fucker's eyes on someone other than his woman. The other Sons weren't pleased that their girls were distracted, but Hap was fine with that, too.

Vivian picked up on the growing tension focusing on Oscar, though, and suggested the band play for awhile. They'd all brought instruments, so they arranged chairs in front of the stripper pole and put on a little show.

He leaned against the wall and watched. She was dressed casually, in faded jeans, black cowboy boots, and a fitted maroon top. She had more buttons fastened than had been her habit before, when she'd leave some open at the top and the bottom, exposing cleavage and belly. She wasn't comfortable putting her sexuality out front, and she had scars she wanted to conceal now. But she was still exotically beautiful.

It had been a while since he'd seen her perform or even heard her sing. He'd forgotten, honestly, how remarkable her singing voice was, how beautiful and sexy, and how in her element she was on stage. She'd said she didn't want it anymore, but it was hard to believe that while he watched her singing with her boys. Maybe it was the safe, familiar audience, but she looked like she belonged exactly where she was.

He'd been focused on making a life with her, here in Charming—getting her into his life. Getting her to stay. Her life away from him had been nothing but an obstacle to his plans. Well, now he had her. She was his old lady, his wife. They'd been through hell and had walked back. Maybe it was time for him to get out of her way a little, let her find what she wanted in this life they'd made. Help her, even.

* * *

Jax walked up to him while he listened to her singing "Sweet Jane."

"You held out for a good one, bro."

Without looking away from her, Hap said, "Yeah."

"Everything good with you two now?"

He hadn't talked to Jax yet about going Nomad. The tour was still a couple months out, but this was as good a time as any. He turned to his President. "Gotta talk to you about that. They got a tour coming up. Thought I'd go Nomad for six months or so, starting March. Stay with her. Keep her safe."

Jax looked at him. "We got a lot of cartel heat goin' on lately, Hap. You know we've needed you more than usual."

He knew that well. Changed nothing, far as he was concerned. "I know. But she's been through the shit. The hit they'd take bailing on this tour is too much. I gotta stay with her."

For a long time, Jax was quiet, watching Vivian and her boys play. "You've changed, bro."

"Yeah." Hap was starting to think there was going to be a problem.

"I don't want you going Nomad." Hap's hackles went up. "Tell you what. Just take the time. Keep in touch. You can proxy your votes."

"You want me to keep my seat?" He was shocked.

"Brother, nobody's earned a seat at that table like you have. It's yours. Take the time."

Hap turned completely to Jax. He felt the strength of club loyalty more in that moment that he had in a very long time. "Thank you, boss. Thank you." They embraced.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 25:**

"I'm Tired," Savoy Brown

Hap was standing behind her, his arms around her. She was swallowing down a bottle of water as the band listened to the crowd whistling and stomping its feet, looking for an encore. They'd realized not long into the tour that they needed a couple little encore sets—two or three songs each—because they were getting called back out every night. Their actual setlist was mostly original, with a couple of their best covers for filler, but the encore sets were all covers. They got the crowd hot for the headline act.

They were almost halfway through the tour. Though she'd puked and wept her way through the first several weeks, Viv was starting to remember why she loved this shit.

Dex leaned over and yelled "'Retha?" She nodded. They were in Detroit. She thought Aretha and Elmore James was a good encore here.

"Ready, babies?" she asked.

"Let's do this!" Oscar was always amped.

Viv turned and kissed Hap. When she broke away he pulled her back and kissed her deep. "Tear it up."

"I always do." She ran out on stage, swinging her Telecaster off her shoulders. She stuck it on its stand. She didn't play when she sang "Chain of Fools."

"Not ready to see us go yet, huh?" The crowd cheered. "Well good, 'cause we got a couple more for you." The boys started in, and within two bars, the crowd was nuts. She liked playing these larger venues, when she had some distance from the crowd and the stage lights were bright, and she could almost forget people were out there. Not being able to see them, see the men staring at her, making eye contact with her, allowed her to get into the performance the way she used to. She ended "Fools" on her knees at the edge of the stage.

She grabbed the Telecaster and they segued right into "Shake Your Moneymaker." She was able to shake hers all over the stage. She and Oscar dueled guitars, face to face. Hap hated it, but he knew he had to deal. He did get broody, though. The crowd loved it, and that's why they were out here.

"That's Dex Landler on drums. Sean Murphy on bass. Oscar Perrault on guitar and sexy baritone. I'm Viv Green, and We. Are. _Leather_! Thank you!"

She ran off the stage into Hap's waiting arms.

* * *

They'd established a routine where they'd hang out backstage for the first part of the headline act and then head out and find a diner somewhere before the groupies and backstage-passers started getting too thick. Well, Dex, Sean, Viv, and Hap would head out. Oscar was enjoying the backstage entertainment. He was getting his share of groupies, too. He was seriously hot, after all, and he and Viv were switching between lead vocal and lead guitar roles more, so he was getting some notice.

That was part of the transition plan. Everybody knew it was unlikely that Viv would stay with the band after the tour, so they were trying to get Oscar more front time. He'd sung lead on a couple of the songs on the album anyway.

Even though Viv was rediscovering the joy of performing, she didn't think she wanted the touring life anymore. Too much had changed. _She_ had changed too much. But she'd thought she wanted out of music entirely, and now she wasn't so sure about that. She would just have to find her new niche.

Dex was coming around to Hap. A little. Of necessity, they were spending a _lot_ of time together, and at some point the crackling hostility between them had just worn down. Tonight, while they sat in a circular booth at some diner in St. Louis with 60s-era space age-y décor, Dex actually laughed at something Hap said. Something Hap had intended to be funny. Viv about did a spit-take with her Cherry Coke.

With the exception of his continuing jealous distrust of Oscar (who had a healthy respect for Hap and a strong survival instinct and was thus very much nothing to be worried about, no matter how he felt about Viv), having Hap on tour was just about the best thing about it. He was with her constantly, but he wasn't hovering. He stepped back when she needed him to step back; he came forward when she needed him to come forward. He was what she needed, whenever she needed him. He gave her strength.

They'd had one bad scene a couple of weeks ago, in Pittsburgh or Philadelphia, when a guy ran up and grabbed Viv's hair. He'd really hurt her—snatched a handful right out of her head. She'd thought Hap was actually going to kill that guy. But Dex and Oscar pulled Hap off, Sean pulled her to a safe distance, and they were close enough to the building where they were playing that the actual security stepped in, taking care of the creep before Hap could get himself into trouble.

Now Hap practically put her in his pocket when they walked from the bus to the building. She was okay with that. She hadn't factored in the possibility that there would be fan lines for Leather outside the backstage doors. But there were. They weren't huge, but they were there. They'd all been signing autographs—a new feature to their band life. Not all the fans were polite, though, and Viv found the fan lines to be just this side of way too much. She'd had a really bad week after the hair-snatcher incident. So Hap got between her and them as much as he could, and she was glad.

The bus was pulling a trailer for his Dyna, but it mostly rolled empty, unless the weather sucked. Hap hated riding in the bus. Made him claustrophobic, and he paced like a caged animal. So he rode alongside. Viv rode with him sometimes, but that made the label rep nuts—liability issues or something—so mostly she sat at a window and watched him ride. Then, once they'd landed at whatever motel they were spending the night in, they'd go out late and ride together, full out.

Wherever they were, Hap always managed to find a good road for a fast ride. She loved riding double with him, holding tight, the muscles in his abdomen flexing under her hands as he steered the bike. It was sexy as hell. Riding like that always got Hap revved, that was sure.

She got revved herself. But orgasms were just not part of her world anymore. With everything that they'd done to her in that concrete room, one of the things they'd taken was her ability to come. She knew Hap was frustrated by it. He seemed to want it even more than she did. But after months of having sex again, she knew two things were true: she could have neither orgasms nor babies.

Seeing Hap's frustration, and feeling worried that it would change how he felt about her, she'd tried to fake it once. He'd known immediately; he'd stopped cold and pulled away, and he'd been furious. "Don't you _ever_ fake that shit. Don't you _ever_ fuckin' lie to me," he'd growled, scaring her a little. He'd felt it as a stinging betrayal, and she regretted her attempt.

So she didn't. But she loved having Hap inside her. She'd been relieved and thrilled to get that part of her life back. The nightmares were much less frequent, happening now just once a week or so. It had taken time for her to be able to completely relax, and she still had to work to keep her focus on what was happening and not let bad memories interfere. Finally, though, their sex life was something like it used to be. She was just quieter.

On this night in St. Louis, they came back to the hotel after a long ride. Hap was on her as soon as they got into their hotel room, lifting her up and putting her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around him and squeezed herself tight against the swelling in his jeans. Panting, he leaned into her and kissed her hard, his hands under her shirt, pushing her bra up to release her breasts to his touch. She moaned and arched into him. He pulled back a little and rasped, "I want to have you against the wall."

He was starting to push at her new boundaries a little. She knew what he was doing, trying to amp things up, find a way for her to come. She tried to see it as him trying to help her and not as him pressuring her. Sometimes she did better at that than others. Right now, she thought she could handle it.

"Okay."

"Yeah? Good girl." He pushed her legs down and set her back on her feet, opening her belt and jeans. She toed off her boots and pushed her jeans and underwear down while he opened his own jeans. Then he grabbed her ass and brought her back up, groaning as her pushed into her. She wrapped her legs around him again.

She wasn't as wet as would have been ideal, considering his size, and she grunted at the little pinching discomfort.

"Fuck, honey. I'm sorry."

"S'okay. I'm okay. Don't stop." After a few thrusts, she was wetter, and it _was_ okay. He moved slowly for a long time, his face pressed into the crook of her neck. It felt good. She felt full and complete and close to her man.

Sometimes, she even thought something might happen. The heat spread through her and she began to crave the sensations he was making in her. But it never went beyond that. And if he held out too long—he was usually very good at maintaining control over himself—she'd lose that and just get sore. And sore was a very bad thing, bringing very bad things up in her head.

She couldn't quite convince him that it wasn't an endurance game—it wasn't as if she would come if he could just hold out long enough. She'd taken to announcing when it was time for him to let go before it went on too long. Then there was this whole post-climax anticlimax thing, when his frustration was blindingly apparent.

Come to think of it, sex was still a really loaded, complicated project. But at least they were having it.

He was speeding up now, grunting as he pushed into her, his hands tight on her ass, and she clutched closer to him, encouraging him. "Go, Hap."

He pulled back and looked at her. She smiled and leaned in to kiss him. "Fuck, oh fuck," he whispered against her mouth, and then he pushed her hard against the wall and slammed into her until he came.

He didn't roar anymore.

He pulled out and set her back on her feet. Kissing her forehead, he whispered, "I love you." And then he went into the bathroom.

Post-climax anticlimax.

Viv gathered up her jeans and laid them over the back of a chair. She took off her top and bra, too. Then she grabbed a t-shirt and yoga pants from her bag, pulled them on, and got into bed.

Everything was really good between them except for this thing right here, where he left her alone right after sex, which was happening more often. She was beginning to wonder if he would be able to stick with her if she couldn't offer him more, what they'd had, in bed.

She was beginning to wonder if there was a point where he'd really start looking somewhere else.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **This chapter got pretty long—sorry! There's some important stuff going on, and it worked better in one consistent POV.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 26:  
**"I Want You (She's So Heavy)," The Beatles

Hap stood offstage and watched Vivian sing. She'd gotten increasingly comfortable on stage as the tour had progressed. When it started, she'd been a mess, even with him there with her. She'd puked for about half an hour every night before they went on, and she cried every day when it was time to head to the venue. Now, she was back into it, vamping it up enough on stage, with Oscar, that he was jealous. But she still folded right back up when they came off stage and she had to deal with strangers directly. She had become shy.

And, Jesus, the weird people hanging around outside the venues. Three times Hap had taken down an asshole who was way out of bounds, touching her, hurting her. He'd almost killed a guy who'd run up and fucking grabbed a handful of her hair. He never would have thought he preferred the bar crowds and the way they came up on her, but those guys were much more polite and careful with her than these weird groups that hung around the back doors. Made him nuts.

Things between them were good. Really good. In some ways, maybe better than ever. She leaned on him more than she ever had before, and he loved it. She let him take care of her. It calmed him to know that she wouldn't do something reckless and stupid just to make a fucking point about who had control. He missed her fire, though.

Fuck, he wanted her fire. Maybe when he got her home and the stress of the tour was behind her. Maybe when they were able to settle into a life, maybe then she could relax a little and be who she was.

It had been ten months since everything changed.

The tour was on its last leg now, swinging through Southern California. They were in L.A. tonight. He could almost taste home.

Being away from the Sons for nearly six months had been harder than he'd expected, and a lot of shit had been going down in his absence. Cartel shit, which he hated to miss. He still had a vendetta to carry out. But just last week he'd proxied a vote to end their relationship with the Galindos. It had been unanimous. Now they had to make it happen. Jax had an idea, but it was complicated as hell, and Hap needed to get back there and get in it.

They'd be back within two weeks. He was feeling antsy. When they got home, Hap could focus on putting things straight again. Building a life with Vivian. Helping the Sons get on the right track. Putting their crap behind them.

* * *

As the tour wound down, the post-show parties backstage wound up. It seemed like every stop things got a little wilder. Usually, Hap had Vivian out of there long before things got out of control, but lately she'd sometimes want to linger, as if she wasn't in a big rush to get to the hotel. L.A. was one of those times. Dex and Sean headed out on their own.

So he was sitting in a square armchair, Vivian on one knee, a bottle of Jack on the other. He was sure to stay clear-headed around these assholes, but he needed something to take the edge off, or he was like to lose his shit in this chaos. Way too much to keep track of. Luckily, Vivian barely indulged at all anymore. She was too insecure to risk losing any alertness.

The headline band was a moderately big deal, and there was quite an array of women, from underdressed, underage, overdone, fucking giggly little girls to more mature, but still underdressed and overdone bimbos. They were everywhere, and they all knew the gig. Made the Crow Eaters look like amateurs.

Someone had brought X or something like it, and the party was shifting gears. Hap hadn't yet deduced who'd brought it; he hadn't seen any exchanges yet, and it was crazy and crowded in there, but he was looking out. The music was deafeningly loud, and people were writhing around. It was turning into a damn orgy, in fact. Half the people were naked or getting there. There were at least four girls on Oscar. Crazy shit, making him crazy.

His hand around her hips, resting on her thigh, he watched Vivian watching the goings-on. She looked intent. He figured this must all be making her uncomfortable, so he gave her a squeeze and pulled her down so he could press his lips to her ear. "Let's head back to the hotel, honey. Not our scene."

She turned to look at him, and then she nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna run to the bathroom first." She got up from his lap. He got up, too. Where she went, he went. At least to stand outside the door.

"It's okay, Hap. You can stay put." She pushed his chest lightly, a "stay" gesture, and walked toward the door.

Stay put his ass. Last thing he wanted was for her to get accosted by some random freak in the hallway. He walked to the door; the hall was clear, except for Vivian, so he stopped there. He could give her some space and still keep an eye on her.

Then he felt hands under his kutte, under his shirt, on his back. He turned fast and grabbed the offender. One of the little girls, topless and clearly high as a fucking kite, trying to rub up against him, all over him like static fucking cling.

"How far do your tats go? They're so pretty. You're pretty." She smiled up at him.

Christ. He wanted to deck her. But she was young—too fucking young for this. He grabbed a discarded shirt off a nearby chair and draped it over her shoulders. "You should go home, little girl." He sat her in the chair. He turned to check for Vivian, and the baby bimbo was right back on him. Goddammit. He grabbed her shoulders and walked her to the other side of the room, to a cluster of equally young sluts. She wasn't his problem. She wanted to offer it up to the crowd, not his concern. He just wanted her off him.

That handled, he turned and headed back to wait for Vivian. But she was back, and she was talking to a woman who'd been all over the drummer for the other band all night.

And that's when Hap figured out who'd brought the X or whatever it was. From across the room, he watched Vivian take something from the groupie and swallow it right away, as he was shouting her name.

He ran up to her and grabbed her arms. He shook her. "What the fuck did you just do? Taking shit from someone you don't know?! Jesus Christ, Vivian. How fucking stupid are you? Fuck!" He dragged her out of the room and down the hall. She was puking that shit up. If he had to shove _his_ finger down her throat, she was getting rid of that shit.

He was halfway down the hall before it registered that she was hysterical.

"Hap! Hap! Stop! Please! Please don't hurt me! Please!"

He let her go, and she fell to the floor and curled into herself, sobbing. Fuck. _Fuck_. He looked around; they hadn't attracted any notice. He squatted down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She gasped and cowered away. _FUCK_. He sat down hard on the floor and leaned against the wall. What the fuck had he done? "Vivian. Vivian, I'm sorry. I'm not gonna hurt you."

He realized that that's exactly where he'd been headed, and he shoved the thought away. God, this tour was sending him off the rails.

He waited until she'd calmed down a little before he tried to touch her again. Then he put his hand on her back. He felt her twitch, but that was much better than cowering. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm worried, though. You can't be sure what you took."

She was still crying a little—small, hitching breaths. Rather than respond, she simply shrugged. He hated that. "Don't shut down, Vivian. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. Stay with me."

When she didn't respond at all, he took her chin and turned her face to his. "Look at me, honey. I'm sorry. I love you. Don't shut down." Finally, she met his eyes. He said again, "I _love_ you."

She took a deep breath. "I know. I love you, too." She didn't resist when he pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms. He felt some relief. Fuck. He'd almost blown everything right the fuck back up. He could not wait to be home.

He kissed her head. "We need to get you back to the hotel, honey. I don't want you here when whatever you took hits you. We need to go now." He stood up and held out his hand to her.

"Okay." She took his hand and let him pull her up.

* * *

He felt it come on her on the ride back to the hotel. She leaned way back, only her hands on his hips, and scared the absolute shit out of him. He grabbed her and yanked her forward; then she relaxed against his back, and her hands started moving all over his chest, his thighs, his cock. By the time he pulled in at the hotel, she was trying to get into his clothes.

If this was the trip she was taking, he was starting to be glad he hadn't forced her to puke it up.

She stayed on while he turned off the engine and kicked the stand down. Then she brought her leg up and slid around so that she was straddling him on the bike. She ground her hips on his. _Christ_. He grabbed her legs and pulled up until she got the hint and wrapped around him. Then he dismounted and carried her into the hotel, through the lobby, into the elevator. On the way up, he put her against the wall and kissed her hard as she flexed against him.

He struggled with the key card, but he got them into their room. He took her right to the bed and lay down on her. She was grinding and moaning and panting, and Christ, she hadn't been this loose since before. He could feel her heat on his cock through two pairs of jeans, thrusting against him, and it was pure will that kept him from going off in his pants like a teenager.

He pushed off her and stood back up, feeling an electric thrill when she moaned and tried to keep him close. He pulled off her high-heeled boots and then her low-rise jeans. She thrust her hips at him when her jeans and thong came over them. He stripped, fast, and knelt between her legs.

She was trying to unbutton her top, but it had a lot of little fabric-covered buttons and she was having trouble. He pushed her hands away and ripped it open, raining those little buttons all over the bed. Fuck it. Her bra hooked in front; he undid the clasp with one hand and lay down on top of her to suckle her beautiful tits. She gasped and moaned and held his head tight to her chest. His cock was pressed between her thigh and his gut and she was moving so much he had to shift and get it clear of her touch.

Still suckling her, he slid his hand over her mound, through her black bush. She'd never gone back to the silly little strip of hair she'd had before, and he loved it. He never had understood all the shaving and waxing or what the fuck ever women did these days. Why did they all want to look like little girls? It was crazy. He liked something he could put his fingers through. He did so now and pushed his hand between her legs. She was so damn wet. God, she was wetter than she'd been in months. She was dripping.

He slid two fingers into her, and her hips came off the bed. She gasped and cried out, "Oh fuck yes, Hap! Please!" _Jesus, yes. Keep talking, honey. That's my girl_. He took a second to rein himself in, and then he massaged her clit with his thumb, the small, tight circles she'd always loved, varying direction and pressure, working his fingers inside her, until, holy shit, she grabbed his wrist in both hands and curled up around him, bucking her hips wildly, screaming, "Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh lord, yes!" He felt her pulsing around his fingers.

It had been ten months since he'd last made her come. Ten months. _Ten fucking months_. Christ, he thought he might cry. The back of his eyes itched maddeningly. He mastered all his wayward urges and pulled up to kiss her. She _was_ crying. "Honey, you okay?"

She laughed. "I'm fantastic. I'm just _fantastic_. You feel so good. Don't stop. Don't ever stop. I need you to touch me everywhere."

He shifted to lie completely on her, but then she surprised him by shoving him hard. She was trying to flip him over. He grabbed her and rolled so that she was atop him. He thought she would mount him, but then she got a weird expression—mischievous—and turned around to straddle his face.

Fuckin' A. Oh, _yeah_. She hadn't let him go down on her yet, not since before. He'd thought that was gone. But here she was taking his cock into her mouth, thrusting herself at his face.

Whatever it was she'd taken, he wanted a lifetime supply.

He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her to his mouth. She tasted so fucking great. He'd forgotten how great. And oh, fuck, she was deep-throating him and he couldn't stand it. He was running out of tether. He pressed his mouth hard to her, sucking and licking, until she was coming again, flooding his mouth with her juices, moaning around his cock until his tether ran out and he came, roaring into her sweet folds, thrusting up into her mouth.

He felt lightheaded. But he was still hard, and she wasn't done. She scooted forward and mounted him, still turned away. He didn't like that, but she was sliding down on him, so fucking hot and wet, and then she was rocking back and forth, moaning already and saying, "God, Hap, this is so good. It's so good. I remember now how good it was. Oh, God, I don't want it to stop."

He sat up behind her, put his arms around her waist and rolled them over, so that she was face down on the bed and he was lying on top of her. He brushed her hair off her back so that he could see his mark on her. He pushed into her, hard and deep and fast, and she made gasping little screams and pushed back at him. He pulled her up and sat back on his heels, settling her on his lap, against his chest. There. They were closer this way. He took a breast in one hand and slid the other between her legs. She moaned and leaned back against him, her arms coming up around his head. "Fuck me, Hap. Don't stop."

"Honey, I'm not stopping 'till you tell me to. I've missed it like this. So fucking much."

By the time she was ready to sleep, the sun was up, and he was worn the fuck out. He felt rapturous.

* * *

They could only get a few hours of sleep in before it was time to check out and get back on the road. They didn't have time to talk before Vivian was in the bus and Hap was on his bike. She'd been subdued, though, all morning. Really quiet. Obviously hung over. Hap wasn't into shit like X, if that's what it was—never had been, thought it was stupid as hell—so he didn't know whether she was just coming off the drug, or whether what had happened the night before was fucking with her head somehow.

Christ, he hoped not. He had his Vivian back last night. He wanted to keep her, dammit. And what he'd learned was that it was her head, not her body, that had been in their way. Her body worked fine. Just _fine_.

They needed to talk. They didn't have a show tonight, so he was getting her to talk as soon as they got to their next stop.

* * *

They actually didn't get to the motel until late. They had a series of local press interviews to do, and then some business at the concert hall, and then dinner. Vivian had continued to be quiet throughout the day, and Hap was starting to get really concerned.

As they finally registered and got their keycards, she turned and caught his hand. "Wanna ride tonight?"

He did, but not right away. "Yeah. But let's talk first." He led them to their room. When they got there, she put her bags near the bathroom, as usual, and then sat down on one of the chairs. He went over to her and took her hand. "Come sit with me." He led her to the bed.

"I know what you want to talk about, Hap. But I don't know what to say about it yet. Except I guess I should develop an X habit."

He actually didn't want to start there. "We'll get to that. Tell me what's been going on today."

She looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"You been quiet and sad today. Last night freak you out?"

"I think it's just a comedown. I _have_ been slow and depressed all day, but I think it's just hangover shit—it sucks, though. I'm not sure what to think about last night. I guess I'm a little freaked, but it's not that I didn't love it. Because I _loved_ it."

He grinned. "So did I, honey. So did I. Can I tell you what I think?"

She looked shy, but she nodded, then said, "You want me to find a supplier in Charming?"

"No. No, Definitely not. I want _you_. I want you to have what you had last night without having to take something to get there. And I know you can. Your body works, Vivian. We just have to get your head out of its way. That's what I think." He thought for a minute and then asked, "Is that why you took it? Because that was fuckin' stupid. Don't ever take shit from someone you don't know. Christ, Vivian, you know better."

"I know. I guess I was starting to feel a little desperate."

The force of that word surprised him. "Why?"

"Because you're frustrated. It feels like there's an expiration date on your patience with me about this. People were all over each other last night, and I thought maybe I could have a little of that. Be good again for you." She looked down at her lap. "I don't want you to give up on me."

"Honey, I'm not frustrated. Not giving up on you. No way." Christ, didn't she know that?

She looked back up. "Hap, be straight. For weeks now you've been getting up afterwards and hiding in the bathroom, or going to the lobby, or whatever, just leaving me. What's that about if not frustration?"

He didn't know how to explain that. He felt bad for needing to have her, even though he knew she had to force herself to stay focused and she wasn't getting anything out of it. "It's not about you, Vivian. It's about me. It's—I don't know. Guilt, I guess."

She laughed drily. "First, you just literally said, 'it's not you, it's me.' This does not give me great confidence. Second, guilt isn't much better. That becomes resentment. Which still gets us to you being a short-timer."

Just like that, he was angry and struggling to control his temper. "That's fuckin' offensive, Vivian. You think what I feel for you is that fucking shallow?"

She looked surprised. She reached for his hand. "Hap, I didn't—"

Working to stay calm, he waved her off and stood up. "Shut up and listen. Pussy I can get anywhere. Fuck, it's lined up far as the eye can see. I've been belly up at the all-you-can-eat pussy bar since I was 14 years old. I'm not with you—I didn't _fucking marry you_—because of what's between your damn legs. I am not a goddamn short-timer. Maybe you forgot already—what I was like when we met. Because I'd never felt anything like what I feel for you. Fuck, it's like I _invented_ what I feel for you. We could stop having sex right now, never have it again, and I will still love you until I die.

"I feel fucking guilty because I caused this. What happened to you is my fucking fault. And sometimes when I see you trying so hard to be okay for me, I need to take some time and kick myself around. _That's_ why I go off by myself for a few minutes.

"Jesus, Vivian. Don't tell me I'm a short-timer. _You_ left _me_. Remember? I'm not the one who fuckin' bailed when things got bad."

She was looking at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide. He should have worked harder for calm. That shit came out of a deep place.

He watched as her surprise at his outburst shifted into something defensive. "No—you were the one orally raping some girl in the middle of the clubhouse."

That came out of a deep place, too, he thought. Fuck, it was harsh. And they were getting into dicey territory—he'd led her right into it. His fucking temper. He didn't want to end up telling her about his 'Eater rampage. It was ancient history, and it would do no one any good to talk about it now.

He walked away. Looking out the window, he said, "That wasn't rape. No way. She's a Crow Eater, Vivian. She knows her place."

"Jesus. Do you hear yourself?"

He turned around. "Vivian, you don't understand. I'm glad—you don't need to understand. You're far above all that. But that's what she's there for. She knows the game, and she's there because she wants something, too. I'm sorry I did it, because I hurt you. I was an ass. It won't happen again, long as you're with me. But don't say I raped her. I didn't. And I can't deal with you thinking I did."

She was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, she sighed and said, "You're right. I don't understand. I don't know what's worth that, what she gets that's worth being treated like that."

"She gets a place to be. A door that's open. Maybe a chance to be more."

"That's so damn sad, Hap."

He shrugged. He didn't spend time thinking about Crow Eaters, and he didn't care to now. He wanted to get away from this topic and back to the point. Taking a deep breath, he sat back down next to her. "The point is, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving, and I don't want anyone but you. I fuckin' love you, Vivian. I'm sorry I hurt you. But I am not a fuckin' short-timer."

She was quiet for a while. Hap waited, not sure what she was thinking, where this conversation was headed next. Finally, looking at the floor, she asked, "Was she the only one?"

_Fuck_. Quickly, knowing that the longer he waited to answer the worse it would go, he tried to figure out the best thing to say. But he didn't have time to think it through, so he said simply, "No." Then he waited again.

She flinched at the word. She stayed quiet, but she was starting to breathe heavily. After a while, he couldn't take the silence. "I'm sorry."

She laughed at that, harshly. "And you have the gall to come at me for calling you a short-timer. How many?"

He honestly didn't know. Those days were a blur of red rage. He could estimate, but he felt like that would only get him in more trouble. "I don't know. I had a bad spell after you left."

She looked at him, hurt and outrage plain on her face. _Fuck_. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

"You left, Vivian. You left. I thought you'd left for good, and it fucked with me hard."

"So it's my fault?"

"No, that's not—no. But I couldn't find control." He _had_ to explain this so they came out the other side whole. "When you told me that you saw the Lobos when you looked at me, I thought I'd lose my mind. I kept it together, but just barely. Then I saw you with Dex"—she opened her mouth to interrupt, but he put his hand on her knee and said, "I know it was innocent, but I'm telling you what happened inside me."

She shifted her knee out from under his hand. That was bad.

"You saw what I did to Dex. And then you were gone. I was out of control like that for days before I calmed down. I don't know how many girls because I don't remember most of that time. I was running on pure rage and—and loss."

"Fuck, Happy. Fuck. I feel sick." He couldn't remember the last time she'd called him Happy. It sounded wrong in her voice.

"Vivian, I'm sorry. It was a long time ago. Don't let it hurt us."

"Why not? It sure the fuck hurts me. And it was a long time ago because you kept it from me. You lied."

No. No. He was not going to fucking lose her over something stupid that happened months ago. _No_. They'd gained too much ground. He grabbed her legs and pulled her around to face him. "Vivian, no. I didn't lie. I didn't tell you because it was nothing to me. I didn't have control. I barely fucking remember. I didn't want to cause you pain. Fuck, you've had enough pain. I'm sorry. I can't undo it, but I'm sorry. It hasn't happened since, and it won't happen again."

He grabbed her hands in his and held them tight. "We've come so far. That's what's real. You're my wife. We need to stay whole."

She looked at him for a long moment, then she yanked herself free. She jumped up and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. He could hear her retching. Oh, Christ. The toilet flushed, but she didn't come out. Not for a long time. If there'd been a window in the bathroom, he might have thought she'd shimmied out and fled. Then he heard her brushing her teeth.

She came out and leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed. Her eyes were red and swollen. "So, all those girls are at the clubhouse, right? Thinking that you're fair game? You understand how that will be for me?"

"I'll send them away." He didn't actually think the Crow Eaters were lining up for him anymore.

"How? If you don't remember them? Unless that was a lie, too."

She was right. He knew a couple, and he knew he'd scared off a couple, but he wasn't sure of them all. "It wasn't a lie. I don't lie to you. I guess I can't get rid of them all."

She pushed her hands through her hair. " 'Them all.' Jesus. I don't know what you want from me, Hap. Am I supposed to just say, 'Bygones!' and be okay with this?"

"I want you to forgive me. I want you to trust me."

She laughed harshly again, incredulous. "So yes, then. You want a pass. _Fuck_ you."

"No! Dammit, I want you to understand! I was going through shit, too. But you needed me. I was taking care of you, so I buried my shit. Deep. I tried to give you what you needed, but I watched you pulling away from me until you were all the way back in fucking Berkeley. I was alone. I was so fucking alone, and I lost my shit."

He wanted to go to her, grab her, make her hear him. But he couldn't stand the thought that she might pull away, so he stayed put, still sitting on the bed. "I know what happened to you was my fault. Christ, it eats me up. I'm so sorry you got so hurt because of me. I'm sorry I hurt you. I don't know how to deal with this fucking guilt, Vivian. I don't. My life was clean before. I never had guilt. Now I never _don't_ have it. It's killing me. I'm sorry. _I'm so fucking sorry_."

Somehow, something he'd said was the right thing. Her expression softened as he talked, and when he was done, she came back to the bed. She didn't touch him, but she sat next to him. "I never think about what happened as your fault. It wasn't. You have to stop thinking about fault. That doesn't even matter. It fucking happened. End of story."

He didn't understand why she'd never blamed him. How was that even possible? He took her hand and brought it to his lips. She didn't resist, and relief began to wash over him. "Anyone else would blame me. They'd be right to."

"Hap, maybe your guilt is getting in our way, too. Like with the way you've been after sex. I didn't have any way of understanding why you kept leaving. We fucked, I couldn't come, you walked away. For me, that math works out to me being broken and you being frustrated. I just feel like . . . like I'm less than you need. And it makes me feel desperate. Knowing about the Crow Eaters only scares me more. I don't want to lose you. But you have to be true. I won't share you, even if I'm not enough for you."

It struck at something inside him to hear her talk about herself as less than anything. "You're all I want, Vivian. You're all I've wanted since you first sat next to me at the bar. Only way you lose me is if you want to. Even then, I'm not sure I'd let you go. We gotta stick our shit out together. If you're with me, then there won't be anybody else. I swear."

"I won't stand for it again, Hap. Maybe men have been using me as a punching bag my whole fucking life, and maybe I'm not like I was, but I do have some slim shred of self-respect left. You figure out how to keep those women out of my face."

He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "I will; I promise. Thank you, honey." Her arms came around him, and she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. As she relaxed into him, he realized how fast his heart was pounding. He felt like they were always on the edge of a cliff. He needed to get her home, get her settled, get them onto firmer ground. Ten days.

In the meantime, they needed to clear their heads. "You want to ride?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

He took them up the Pacific Coast Highway. It was his favorite ride, bar none. The Pacific off to their left, high cliffs to their right, late at night, mostly alone on the winding road. Hap took it up over 80, the bike leaning right and left as it hugged the pavement. Vivian held him tight, her chest pressed to his back.

On a straightaway, she leaned up to his ear and said, "Find a place to pull over. I want to watch the ocean for a while." He pulled over at the first likely spot, and they walked through the sand to the water.

He stood behind her, his arms around her waist. After a minute, she leaned back into him, her hands on his, and they stood like that, looking out over the ocean. Hap thought about the past year. A year ago, they were making their life ready for a baby. A daughter. He'd felt settled and content. He'd let his guard down, again, and it had all gone to shit, again. Now, almost a year later, he was still struggling to get back the life he wanted. Sometimes he wondered why he tried. Loving Vivian, wanting a life with her, gave him something to lose. A lot to lose. Everything. Things would be cleaner without that. Things would be easier.

The ocean breeze set her hair flying, and it brushed against his face. She let loose her hold on his hands so she could gather her hair and pull it over one shoulder. He leaned down and let his face drop into the thick mass of unruly black curls. She tipped her head against his. God, the feel of her. The scent of her. Calm came over him.

It didn't matter what would be easier or cleaner. What he wanted was her. He thought they could get back most of what they had. They'd made great strides already. They just needed to clear these last few gates. They couldn't have Katherine, but they could have each other. And he would keep his guard up.

The tide was coming in, and it was getting close to their feet. Vivian jumped a little as a wave approached dangerously close to her leather boots. She laughed and twisted herself loose from his embrace, trotting farther back onto the beach. He followed.

There was a big log about fifteen feet farther from the shoreline. She sat there, and he joined her. He put his arm around her, and she leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder. He thought he could sit like this for a long time, alone with his wife on a dark beach, watching the last of the high tide roll in from the Pacific Ocean.

After a while Vivian stirred and sat straight, pulling away from him a little. He looked at her. Her expression was unreadable. "What's up?" he asked.

She toed off her boots and stood. "Vivian?" It was too chilly even to wade in the water. He certainly wasn't going to.

Then she opened her jeans and let them drop to the sand. Fuck, she wanted to swim? No way. "Vivian, what the fuck are you up to? I'm not getting in the fucking water, and you're not getting in alone. No way."

But he was wrong. Instead of stripping more or asking him to join her, bare from the waist down now, she came up to him and straddled him, settling on his lap as he sat on the tree trunk. Just like that, he was hard. "I don't want to swim, asshole. That's not what I want." She flexed on him, and he groaned.

"Out here?" They were totally exposed—she was definitely exposed, and that was not at all like her anymore.

"There's no one around." She opened his belt and yanked at his fly. "Come on. Open up."

He took a good look around. They were alone, sheltered from the road by the rise of the dunes. And she was initiating sex—forcefully. Before he opened his jeans, he pulled her close and kissed her. She grabbed his face and pushed her tongue into his mouth, taking the kiss deep. He slid a hand between her thighs; she was hot and wet for him. "Fuck, Vivian." He pushed his fingers into her and felt her clench around him as she moaned and flexed.

"That's the idea, yeah," she said into his ear. Then she bit his lobe—hard. He flinched and pulled her away. She was staring down at him with the same inscrutable look. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he was damn sure he was going to roll with it.

He opened his jeans and pulled himself out. Before he could do more, she grabbed him and squeezed. She wasn't gentle, and it hurt. But almost before he could react to that, she was on him, coming down hard. Sheathed inside her heat, he groaned and surged up into her. She gasped and started rocking on him, her legs hooked behind him, her arms on his shoulders. He slid his hands under her clothes and massaged her tits, tweaking their tips until she was moving fast, whispering to herself. He couldn't quite make it out over the sound of the surf, but he suddenly didn't care. She was escalating, arching back and moaning. She came forward then, her head against his neck, and then he could make out the tiny little whispers she was making.

"_Fuck_ you. _Fuck_ you. _Fuck_ you."

He pulled her back so he could see her face. She stilled and looked back at him impassively. "Vivian?"

"Shut up and fuck me, asshole."

He was at a loss. He understood now, but he was still at a loss. The way she was acting was about the Crow Eaters. She was angry, and he wanted her forgiveness. But she was hotter and freer than she'd been since before.

Then she pushed down hard on him and started moving faster, moaning. He pressed his face to her chest, his hands still working her breasts, and stopped thinking.

He let her set the pace, and he kept his mouth shut. He wanted to encourage her, or something, but he didn't want to do anything to distract her. If she could come without the help of a drug? Damn—let her be angry if it got her past that gate. She shifted and pushed him still deeper; he grunted as his own pleasure spiked suddenly. He was getting close; he mastered it, but the more excited and into it she was, the harder it was for him to keep control. He kept up his attention to her breasts, and when it looked like she was getting close, he twisted her nipples in the way she liked. She arched back hard with a gasp.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hap, oh, it's good. It's good. God, yeah." He liked those words much better.

She sat forward and took his face in her hands. It was dark, but in the light of the moon and stars, he could see her staring into his eyes. "Fuck, I love you, asshole," she whispered. He grabbed her and thrust up into her, pushing as deep as he could get. She drew in a loud, long breath and then bucked hard on him. He pressed his face into her neck and held on until she came, and he followed right after her.

"Good girl, good girl, that's my girl," he panted. She relaxed on him completely. They held each other for a long time, while their hearts settled and their breathing slowed. When he felt like he had control over himself again, he took her face in his hands and pushed her away a little so he could see her. She was crying, but she smiled.

"You okay?" he asked. She nodded.

"We okay?" he asked.

Crying a little harder, she nodded. He brought her close and pressed kisses all over her face before taking her mouth in his.

She was back. She was okay. They were okay. They were going to be okay.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **The quote in this chapter is from Cervantes.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The rest is me.

* * *

**CHAPTER 27:  
**"At Last," Etta James

"Remember, your job is to run, not fight. You're trying to give yourself time to get away. Don't go after him. Anything you extend, your arm or your leg, he can use to disable you. Don't get cornered. Stay alert. Make him come to you, and use his momentum against him. Ready?"

Viv nodded and put her hands up. Joey, looking less than thrilled with his situation, put his hands up, too. Then Hap grabbed the Prospect's arm and growled, "Make it good—but if you touch her, I'll remove the part that does and eat it raw. Think I'm exaggerating?" The poor kid gulped audibly and shook his head.

Viv felt sorry for him. "Hap, you're not making this any easier." He grunted at her and moved to the side of the ring.

She'd asked him to teach her how to defend herself. At first, he refused—he figured defending her was his job—but she pushed, and he eventually came to see that teaching her to defend herself was a way that he could defend her himself. He'd taught her to shoot a handgun. She had strong, nimble hands that did what she told them to do, and she took to that immediately, hitting the target on the first attempt and bullseyes by the end of the first day. Now she went out for practice with the guys, shooting her very own Beretta. She knew Hap was proud as hell. She was, too.

This self defense stuff was harder. It scared her a little; just imagining the kind of situation she'd be in to have to fight somebody off hand to hand was a bit much for her to deal with. He'd tried to teach her some moves without having her spar, but out of context it just didn't make sense to her. So here she was, in the ring outside the clubhouse, Joey conscripted to be her sparring partner and most of the Sons standing around watching.

Because an audience was just what she needed to make her more secure. Men. Sheesh.

She didn't react quickly enough, and Joey got up on her, looking terrified before he backed off fast. Hap said, "S'okay. If he gets that close, what do you go for?"

"His balls." The guys around the ring winced and laughed. Jax called out, "Careful, Joe, I think she means it. You got that cup secure?" Joey adjusted the hard cup he was wearing, just to be sure.

Hap ignored the peanut gallery and put his hands around her face, getting her attention. "Right. You want him on the ground. Use your knee if you can. Hard. And remember—you want to be loud, draw attention. Use those beautiful lungs and scream your head off, got it?"

"Got it. Let's go."

By the time Hap helped her out of the ring, Joey was a nervous wreck, but Viv thought she'd gotten a little better. And when Hap put her back on the ground, he kissed her and said, "Good work, honey."

She smiled and grabbed the towel Phil offered her. She walked over to the picnic table and sat next to Tig. "So how'd Tigger do?"

Tig smiled, "Real good. He's a smart boy. He's training up fast." He ruffled the pup's ears.

Lots of changes to their lifestyle since the tour ended a few weeks ago. When they'd pulled up to the house, the windows and doors all had security bars. Hap had had them installed while they were gone. Viv had freaked out about that, instantly imagining being trapped in a fire because all the exits were blocked by iron bars. But Hap had shown her the emergency release on all of them. She still didn't love living in what amounted to a cage, but she loved much less the idea of men pulling her out of her own bed in the middle of the night, so she was becoming used to looking through scrollwork when she looked out a window.

And then, within a week of their return, Hap had brought a 4-month-old German Shepherd puppy home. He'd started calling him Tigger as a joke, but it had stuck. And Tig, the man, with a huge soft spot for dogs, loved having a canine namesake. He'd fallen in love with the dog right away and was helping train him to be both household pet and household protection. Hap wanted someone around with superhuman hearing—and big teeth.

Viv had never been around dogs, so she was uncertain at first. He was huge, especially considering he was a young pup. And the imp chewed every damn thing. Thought her shoes were especially delicious. But he was sweet and followed her around the house, wagging his tail and waiting for love. When Hap came home one night to find the dog curled up on his side of the bed, though, he'd been fit to be tied, insisting that dogs had no place on the furniture.

He and the pup had come to a compromise. Tigger slept at the foot of the bed, on Viv's side, his head on her leg, and Hap tried to pretend he wasn't there.

Lots of other changes, too. Leather was again a trio; Viv had stepped out. The album was selling only moderately—making some money, but no one was going to be buying a fancy house or even a fancy car on their share. Viv had earned a rep as a flake during the recording, and the label wasn't picking up the option for a second. They were going back to the old routine, seven or eight months of the year on the road. She just didn't want that anymore. The split was friendly, and expected, and Viv would guest with them when they were in the general area.

So now, she was trying to figure out her new plan. She was putting together some local singer-songwriter gigs. Not nearly the energy she was used to, but it gave her a chance to sing and play and still stay close. She and Bobby had played together a couple times, too. She was thinking about trying to put together a band in Charming, but she didn't want to end up in the same situation, having to tour so that everybody could make their nut.

One new wrinkle had happened, but she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it. She was selling some of her original songs. The headline band from their tour had bought the rights to record four of her songs for their next album. At a pretty decent price. And now she was starting to get feelers from other musicians—some whose style was not at all like hers. Who knew what they'd do to the songs once they got the rights. She hadn't agreed to any of those yet.

It seemed strange to her not to record her own songs. She'd been looking for ways to play them herself for her whole career, and she'd never really found much opportunity, aside from their EP and their one not-so-successful album. The thought that somebody else could make them sell when she couldn't felt wrong somehow. But it was a way to get her songs out there and to make a living.

She had a lot to think about.

* * *

Hap came up behind her and put his hands on her hips. He slid his hand under her shirt and rubbed his thumb gently over her right side. "How's it feeling today?"

"Good. Not sore at all. You have a good touch." He'd inked text over her ribs, down to her waist. They were undertaking a substantial project to camouflage her scars. When they were done, she'd have almost as much ink as he did.

"Can I take a look?" He lifted at the hem of her shirt.

"Sure." She raised her arm and he lifted her shirt. He kept going, though, and pulled it all the way off. She laughed. "So this was just a ruse to get me topless?" She felt playful. Their sex life was almost back to the way it was before. A few new boundaries had held, and sometimes bad thoughts intruded, but she almost always came, and they had both relaxed because of it.

He grinned and took a close look at the new tat. Then he pulled her into his arms. "Looks good. Swelling's gone. And now you don't have a shirt on. Huh."

In perfect, elegant script, the tattoo read:

_The phoenix, Hope,  
Can wing her way through the desert skies,  
And still defying Fortune's spite  
Revive from ashes and rise._

It covered one of Benji's scars and several small, round marks left by the Lobos. She had Katherine's name over the scar near her left shoulder. And Hap had repaired Medusa's damaged snake. She also now had an upper sleeve of intricate, richly colored botanicals on her right arm, covering the long scar Benji had left there. Hap had woven lavender and bees heavily into that one. She thought it was sweet how strongly he associated those images with her. She'd never thought about it. Lavender and honey had just been a scent she'd liked. She'd never intended it to be a signature. But she'd be damned if she'd ever use another scent again.

There was a lot more to be done; she was trying to decide what else she wanted. Hap wanted free rein, and she had no reason not to trust him, but she didn't want to be his canvas.

She wanted to be her own.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **Another thank you going out to everyone who's reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting (I'm going to say that's a word—everybody okay with that?). I write because I love it and love being in this world with my characters, but it's both affirming and humbling to have friends join me.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy

* * *

**CHAPTER 28  
**"Born Under a Bad Sign," Albert King

"You gonna be okay today? I wish you'd come to the clubhouse with me." He abhorred the idea of going away from her at all today, especially when there was something brewing on the cartel front, but she was down and just wanted to stay in bed, and he had to get to church—and probably to work after that.

One year to the day since the concrete room. The anniversary of Katherine's birth and death.

"I feel like shit, Hap. I just want to stay in bed and watch bad TV. I don't want to be around people. But I want to go see her when you get back, okay?" She wanted to leave flowers at the grave.

He kissed her on the forehead and tucked her in a little. "Okay, honey. Sorry I gotta go."

She nodded. "I know. It's okay."

"Pepboy is here. I told him to stay outside, though, give you privacy." The newest Prospect was green, but strong and good with a gun—and eager to be taken seriously.

"Tell him he can come in. He doesn't have to sit on the porch, but I don't want him in the bedroom. The living room or something is fine, though."

Hap didn't want to offer him any distractions. "I like him on the porch, looking out. He's fine. I'll be back as soon as I can. You have your phone close? Your Beretta?" She pulled the phone out from under her pillows, and opened the nightstand drawer to show him the gun.

He pulled it out and made sure it was loaded. "Good girl."

Tigger was lying on the end of the bed. The pup followed Vivian everywhere. Hap patted his rump, and got a tail thump in return. He was getting huge. "You stay with her, buddy. Take good care."

* * *

The Sons sat around the table in stunned silence. Jax had just reported that the plan to get free of the Galindos had collapsed spectacularly. Henry Lin and his gang had bailed on their agreement and instead joined up with the fucking Lobos. And the Lobos had recently made arrangements with Damon Pope through the Niner crew. It had taken two months to set up all the parts of Jax's plan to get out of muling for the cartel. Now, instead of getting clear, the Sons and Mayans were lined up with the Galindos on the front lines of what looked to be a full-blown cartel war, with all local players engaged. No more skirmishes. This would be a bloodletting, and the Sons' side was outnumbered, outgunned, and outpowered.

Jax spoke up again. "Romeo says there's got to be a boss meet for an alliance this big to go down. That means Pope, Lin, and Cruz, the top Lobo, are going to be face to face very soon—all together, in California. If we can get the 20 on that meet and do some damage, maybe we can change this game."

Phil asked, "Yeah, but how do we do that? Not like any Niner off the street is gonna have that intel."

Bobby sat forward. "We have a plan." He looked at Happy. "Be messy." He didn't elaborate. Hap didn't need him to.

It was true that Hap had developed a new depth to his conscience, and that there was now a limit to the lengths he'd go for his club.

Except where Lobo Sonora was concerned. There was no limit to the lengths he'd go for his family. He owed the entire cartel all manner of retaliation for the damage they had perpetrated on his innocent loved ones, women and children all. His grandmother. His mother. His sister. Her children. His wife. His daughter. There was nothing he would not do to exact revenge. Nothing.

He would burn their mothers.

He would rape their wives.

He would rip the hearts out of their infant children.

He would make them watch it all. There was no limit.

"Messy works."

Jax nodded. "I can get to August Marks, Pope's lieutenant. There's nothing doing that August doesn't know. I've been working that angle for a while. Pope's gotten a little sloppy lately. Not much—he's just reaching farther than he should, starting to forget his own advice. He thinks he can keep our arrangement while he's working the Lobos, too. I'm letting him think I don't know. So I can get alone with August, make him available. But we gotta move fast. Hap, we're going to need you to get right to it."

Hap hated to admit it, but there was a better way than his way. "We need it that fast, Galindos should be point. Sodium pentothal is the way to get it fast. We saw it work a couple years back, on that traitor Mayan." Hap had been disappointed at the bloodlessness of the drug but impressed with its results. "Guy like this August won't scare, and he won't cave fast. We need Luis."

Jax was quiet, considering. Tig spoke up, "Hap's right, Jax."

Jax nodded. "Okay. I'll call Romeo. Everybody stick around until we know the next move."

* * *

As soon as he sat down at the bar, Hap called Vivian. When he didn't get an answer, he called Pepboy.

"Yeah, Happy."

"She's not answering her cell. Something up?"

"Not that I know. Quiet out here. You want me to check?"

"What do you think, shithead? NOW!"

He waited while Pep went in. He could hear him moving through the house. Pep called her name—twice. "She not answering you?"

"No."

His heart rate was picking up fast. He didn't care if Jax wanted him to wait around. Something was up at home. He caught Tig's eye and gestured to the lot. Tig nodded and gestured a question: _Want backup?_ He shook his head and strode out into the sunlight.

"Where's the dog?"

"I don't know. Should I go into the bedroom?"

"YES, ASSHOLE. NOW!"

There was a silence that seemed to stretch forever but might have only been a couple of seconds.

"Dog's sitting on the floor by the—oh. She's in the bathroom, Hap. Doesn't sound so good."

"_WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!"_ He was going to beat this shithead bloody.

"She's hurling."

Standing next to his bike, Hap bent over at the waist, his elbows on his knees, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had so much adrenaline he thought he might hurl himself.

"Jesus Christ, asshole. Get out of there and leave her alone. She's havin' a bad day." He snapped the phone shut and went back into the clubhouse.

He sat back at the bar and poured himself a shot of Jack. And then another.

Tig slid his glass down the bar, and Hap filled it as he poured his third. "Everything cool?"

Hap tossed the shot back and took a breath. He was finally regaining some equilibrium. "Yeah. Fuckin' Pepboy. It's fine. She's not feeling good today—been a year."

"A year today? Fuck, man. I'm sorry." Tig put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Yeah."

Jax came out of the chapel and walked to the bar. "Hap, Tig, Chibs, with me. Hap—the cabin still good?"

"It's perfect. I need my kit?"

"No—like you said, this is Luis. He'll meet us there when we get situated. We got a narrow window, boys. Let's go."

As they were walking through the lot, Hap asked, "Won't Pope's lieutenant going missing kill the intel?"

"No, bro. That's why we have to move. August's mom died. He's leaving town tonight, chartered plane. Romeo has an accident scheduled. Random tragedy."

They were mounting their bikes. Chibs sat back and looked at Jax. "Plane crash? _Jesus_."

* * *

It was late, it was dark, and Hap hadn't gotten home to take Vivian to the cemetery. He didn't think he'd be home tonight at all. She'd sounded sad but understanding when he'd called to tell her. He was worried about her, and he hated letting her down. He didn't want her backsliding. He should have been with her today. Shitty fucking timing.

Tig and Chibs threw August's perfectly intact body in the back of the Hummer while Jax and Luis talked. Hap saw them shake hands, and Luis walked to the car, giving Hap a nod as he passed.

As Luis drove off, Jax walked up. "Let's go, boys. We got church." They climbed into the van and headed back to T-M.

* * *

Arrayed around the table long after midnight, the Sons listened to the plan. Alvarez and his crew were there, as was Romeo. Luis was overseeing the arrangements for August's accident.

Romeo, standing behind Jax, led the meeting. "Meet's noon tomorrow, old farmstead near Vacaville." He nodded at Juice, who opened two laptops pointing toward opposite ends of the table, the screens showing the same animated satellite map.

Romeo continued, as Juice used a third laptop to manipulate all three screens, demonstrating the plan. "Heavy woods, but they'll be patrolled, and it'll be daylight. We need quiet. We gotta pick them off the edges, come in through the back door. No guns until both sides are fully engaged. This is guerilla warfare, boys, not a bar fight. You understand? You need to be sneaky and steady, come on them unawares. And no guns until we're made."

Jax leaned forward. "Hap, Tig, Chibs, Rat—all good at low pro and deadly with a knife."

Romeo nodded and looked at Alvarez, who named three of his own soldiers for the same skills.

They spent the next hour assigning roles and planning strategy.

* * *

Once the assault was planned and understood, plans for the lockdown started in earnest. Jax invited Alvarez to bring his crew's families in, but he declined, preferring to keep them locked down in Oakland. He called out to get those arrangements started. The Mayans themselves were staying put in case more discussion or planning was needed. This was the biggest job either Sons or Mayans had ever pulled. This was military shit.

Jax called Gemma and got her busy pulling in the Crow Eater brigade to get food and supplies together.

A few minutes later, Gemma called Hap. He answered, irritated. Before he could say anything, she started right in.

"Viv's not picking up, Happy. I need her help with the girls." He didn't want Vivian helping with the girls. He figured she'd specifically ignored Gemma's call, and everything was okay, but he'd call her as soon as he got rid of Gemma. He needed to get her here anyway. He knew she wasn't sleeping. The nightmares were mostly gone, but she still didn't sleep so well when he wasn't home.

"Leave her be, Gemma. I'll get her here, but she's feeling bad."

"She sick?" Nosy. Gemma wasn't even queen of the clubhouse anymore. That was Tara. Gem was more like a dowager. But she still thought her shit didn't stink.

"It's been a year today, Gem." A year yesterday, now.

"Shit, baby. I didn't know. You okay?"

"Fine."

"Okay. I'll see ya."

Hap ended the call and dialed his wife. She answered immediately, and he released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. But her voice still sounded wrong.

"Hi, honey. Sorry about today. You feeling any better?"

She was quiet for a second before she answered. "I'm okay. Coming home soon? I hate it here at night without you." He was worried. She sounded off, somehow. This was the wrong fucking day to leave her alone.

"I know, honey. I'm not coming home, but I need you to pack a bag for a couple days—and Tigger's shit, too. Food and shit. I'm gonna have Pep bring you in. We're locking down."

She didn't say anything. He knew she wouldn't ask too many questions, but he expected her to say something.

"Vivian?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm just—thinking. You okay?"

"I'm fine. I want you here soon. I'm gonna call Pep right now; you start getting shit together. Have him help. Got it?"

"Yeah. I love you."

"I love you. See you in a few." He ended the call.


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 29:  
**"Cheating in the Next Room," Etta James

Viv sat on the side of the bed, Tigger's head in her lap. It wasn't even dawn, but she was supposed to be packing up and heading to the clubhouse. She'd spent the day and night in bed, but she'd never even really tried to sleep. What a surreal day it had been.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. Viv jumped. Keyed on her, Tigger sat up and growled. As she was reaching for the Beretta, Pepboy called softly, "Viv? Happy wants me to help you. Can I come in?"

Right. Pepboy. She relaxed, and so did Tigger. Only six months old and already good at his job. She kissed his nose and called, "Yeah, Pep. Come on in, baby."

He opened the door and came slowly in. When he saw her sitting on the bed, he averted his eyes. Viv laughed. She was sure Happy had threatened him with some terrible fate if he laid eyes on anything he shouldn't. "It's okay. I'm decent." She was wearing yoga pants and one of Hap's Reaper t-shirts. She never slept naked anymore.

"I just want to check what I can do." He was blushing. He was sweet, and a good looking kid—tall, broad-shouldered, and blonde. Good beard growing in. When he got his top rocker, he'd get all the play he could handle.

"Tigger's food is in the pantry. If you can get that and grab a couple of his chewies, that'll be good. I can pack my own bag. He nodded and headed off, relieved.

Pep carried her bag for her and put it in the back of her new black GMC Terrain, where Tigger's stuff was already waiting. Hap had never liked the Corolla. He didn't like that it was Japanese. He didn't like that it was small. "Fucking foreign piece of compact shit," were his precise words. He didn't think it was safe. He'd tried to buy her something when she was pregnant, but she'd fought him. The expense was silly, when the Corolla was reliable and paid for. She was surprised he even wanted to buy her a car, considering his fiscally conservative ways. So she'd argued on financial grounds, and he'd eventually set the fight aside.

But things were different now. When they got back from the tour, he'd taken her to the GMC dealer and told her to pick something out. She hadn't fussed. He tried to lead her to the Yukon, but that was just this side of a damn semi truck. At least four Corollas would fit in that crazy thing. It scared the crap out of her. She'd picked the smallest option in the whole showroom, a little crossover. He'd wanted her to go bigger, but on that point she'd stood firm. The Terrain was already twice as big as she was used to.

She opened the front passenger door, and Tigger jumped in and sat down on the seat, facing forward. He was always excited about taking a ride. She'd tried to keep him in the safer back seat, but he whined and whined, and she felt guilty. So he rode up front. She climbed in with him and headed off to T-M, Pepboy trailing on his bike.

* * *

The clubhouse was already hopping when she got there. There were men everywhere—Sons and a bunch of men she didn't know, all Latino, as far as she could tell—all of them going through a stack of weapons and other gear on the pool table.

Abel and Thomas saw Tigger, and vice versa, so Viv released his lead so the three young pups could run to each other. A wrestling match started right away, the boys laughing hysterically. Lockdowns were probably fun for kids. And dogs. Viv looked up and met Tara's eyes; they shared a knowing smile.

Gemma had the Crow Eaters organized, getting food going, even at this early hour. Viv and Hap had been back almost two months, but she had made a point to stay clear of the clubhouse when a lot of girls were around. She looked around now. There were women everywhere. She thought the odds were good that some of them were part of the "all" Hap had fucked when she was in Berkeley. _All_. Jesus.

Almost the worst part was thinking about the way he'd been with the girl she'd seen. He'd been so rough. He'd said it wasn't rape, and that the girl "knew her place," but she felt sorry for her. If he was like that with "all" of them—and that seemed likely—then Viv felt guilty for feeling hostile toward them. She _did_ feel hostile. Oh, so very hostile. But she didn't feel the satisfaction of righteousness. It sucked, and she didn't like to be around the Crow Eaters at all. Any one of them could have been with Hap, so she had no focus to her hostility. Her inclination was to direct it generally, then, and feel guilty about it. It just sucked.

She tried to set those thoughts aside. She'd forgiven him. She believed it had been an isolated incident, and she trusted him. As long as they stayed away from her, she'd deal. And he'd promised her he'd make sure they stayed out of her face. How he was supposed to do that if he didn't remember? That was his fucking problem.

She had bigger concerns now, and she searched for Hap in the room. She saw him on the other side of the pool table, strapping himself into a Kevlar vest. Her stomach had been unsettled all day, and seeing him in a bulletproof vest, standing behind a mountain of big, scary guns, made her want to puke all over the floor.

She needed to grow her spine back. She shook herself and walked up to him. He was intent on what he was doing and wasn't yet aware that she was there. As she approached, though, he looked up and came straight to her. He pulled her into his arms for a long, tight hug. He kissed her before he pulled away.

"You got here fast. Good girl. You okay?"

"Yeah. I need to talk to you, though." She pulled on his arm. She felt a little scared. A lot scared, really.

His brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"Not here. Someplace private."

"Vivian, no such place during a lockdown, 'specially not when it's just getting going. What's wrong?" She could hear him amping up.

No. It had to be private. Not in the middle of this zoo. "The most private place, then."

He looked worried. He glanced around, apparently assessing their options, then he pulled her down the hallway to the bathroom, which was fortunately unoccupied at that moment. He pulled her in and locked the door behind them. Then he grabbed her by the arms and looked into her eyes.

"You got me worried, honey. What's up?"

She pushed against his hold so that she could reach into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a white plastic stick with a pink top. She flipped it so that he could see the little pink plus sign.

Hap just stared at it. For a long time. She knew he knew what it was this time, though.

"Vivian, what—is that yours?"

She laughed a little. "I'm not carrying around a stick _somebody else_ peed on."

"But how? I thought—the doctor said—all this time—"

"Yeah. I know. I mean, I've only had three periods this whole year. I thought it was pretty obvious that I was done. I only did the test because I had a kit left from before, and my boobs hurt like before. And I was puking. I just had a wild thought, and dug the test kit out of the closet. I called the doctor right after I did this. Apparently it wasn't totally, 100% impossible. Just, like, 99.8% impossible. But Hap, he didn't sound like it was good news I'm pregnant, and he wants to see me—us—right away. I made an appointment for tomorrow. If we can get there, with all this going on. I'm scared."

Hap started pulling the Velcro tabs free on his vest. Viv was confused. "What are you doing?"

"You're wearing this. You're not fucking taking it off until I'm back and tell you it's safe."

That was all kinds of crazy. She grabbed his hands. "Hap, no way. You're not thinking. You need it. Don't you dare go out into whatever shit you're going out into and get yourself killed! No!"

He stopped. She could see him regroup, think clearly. "Okay. Okay. But we're telling everybody. They need to know who they're protecting. And you are gonna do what Bobby tells you. No questions. You are staying safe. Understand?"

She didn't want anyone to know. She was scared and worried and quite sure she wasn't going to get to keep this miracle. The thought of everybody knowing, and then knowing when it all went to hell, made her want to puke. But if that was the cost of making sure he wore that damn vest, then so be it. "Okay."

He put his hands around her face and looked down at her, his dimples emerging as a smile danced around the corners of his mouth. "Christ, Vivian."

Tears came up fast. "Please Hap, we can't get our hopes up. Let's talk to the doctor first. If I start thinking about this as another chance and it goes to hell, I don't think I'm strong enough to get through that. I've barely made it through what's already happened. I don't have anything left."

"Okay, honey." He pulled her in against his body, pressing her to the firm shell of the vest. "I love you so fucking much." He kissed the top of her head, then pulled back a bit. "Talk to Tara. Maybe she can tell you something." Viv nodded.

Then there was a forceful pounding on the door. "Hap! You in there? We gotta go!" It was Tig. Hap and Viv stepped back from their embrace and left the room. Hap went straight to Bobby. Viv could tell he was explaining the situation; Bobby looked over at her and grinned. Then he clapped Hap on the back and headed her way.

Hap came with him. He got to her first and pulled her into his arms again, this time kissing her hard and deep. When he pulled away, they were both breathless. "I love you, Vivian. You be safe."

She grabbed at his kutte. "I love you, too. Come back."

He grinned. "I will. You fuckin' know I will."

Those Sons who had loved ones were all finishing up their goodbyes. Then the men headed out.

_Bring your ass home, Lowman._

* * *

Once the men were gone, the clubhouse settled into a kind of household rhythm. There were children to take care of and chores to do. Tara was sitting on one of the couches, minding her boys and Tigger as they played. Viv watched as Tigger herded Thomas so that he didn't get too far away from his mother. Viv had never thought much about dogs before, but she was completely in love with this big lug Hap had brought her.

She sat on the couch next to Tara. Tigger trotted over and sat at her feet, his head on the couch next to her leg. She put her hand on his head. "Can I talk to you?"

"Is it about your news? It's amazing, Viv." Tara took her other hand and squeezed.

Viv squeezed back. "Yeah. But Dr. Kovacs sounded weird and wants to see me right away. He's got me scared. What things could go wrong?"

"I don't know the details of your case, Viv, so I don't know what I can tell you. You really need to talk to Dr. Kovacs."

"Please, Tara. I'm really scared."

For a long time, Tara watched the boys. Then she turned to Viv. "Okay. But anything I say is completely hypothetical. I have no idea if it applies to you." Viv nodded. "What I do know of your case is that there was a lot of damage. You've been through an insane amount of trauma, Viv. The previous stabbing, the shooting, the interrupted labor and subsequent Caesarean, the . . . everything that happened. It's remarkable that a pregnancy was possible at all. Now—and again, I don't know the full extent of the damage or how well you've healed—I think it's likely that Dr. Kovacs' biggest concern will be whether your body can sustain a pregnancy to term. I think he'll be concerned about miscarriage, and serious risk to your own health. To your life."

Viv rested her head on the back of the couch, her eyes closed. At first, she tried to fight the tears off, but then she just let them come. She'd known it was too good to be true. She'd known she wouldn't get to keep this chance. Tigger whined and put his head in her lap. Tara patted her arm.

"I'm sorry, Viv. But I could be wrong. Talk to Kovacs."

* * *

"If he knocked her up, I guess she's not frigid after all, like you thought. What's your big plan now?"

Viv pulled up short just outside the kitchen door. _Jesus, not this, too._

"Just 'cause he fucked her don't mean she liked it. You can tell she's a cold fish just by looking at her. Somethin' in her eyes. Man like Happy, shit gets him off? He ain't gonna tolerate little Miss Doe Eyes forever. No matter what." Viv heard a hard, knowing laugh. "She sure the fuck gets him frustrated, though. Just got to be around when he needs to let go."

Viv was nauseated and shaking. If the compound gate had been open, she might well have fled to her truck and gone home right then.

"I think you're nuts. Happy's hot, but he's an asshole. About ripped me in half. I like Tig. He's a freak, but at least he fuckin' looks at me, and he says something nice after. And I don't have to fight off no old lady to get to him."

Viv found righteousness. With it, she found a calming sense of purpose. She went into the kitchen.

"You just gotta know how to relax with Happy. Then it's not so ba—"

The redhead who'd been speaking stopped mid-word, her mouth open, when Viv came into the room. She was tall and curvy. She was wearing a tight black and white striped knit halter, her ample cleavage displayed to its fullest advantage, and tight, red pin-up shorts. Lots of ink—full sleeves and across her chest. If she were asked to pick out a woman Hap would notice, Viv would pick her.

The other girl was a brunette, shorter, thinner, but inked and pierced. Braless. Wearing a short Harley tank and very low-rise jeans. The rise was so low Viv had a good idea the girl had herself a Brazilian wax job. She had a ring through her navel, a red jewel dangling. God, these women were like a parody of a cliché of a stereotype of biker chicks.

The room was completely quiet, except for the sound of the running water from the faucet. The girls were standing at the sink. The brunette had been washing vegetables. The redhead had been chopping them. She was holding a decent-size knife.

Viv noticed the knife, but she didn't care.

She advanced on the girls.

The brunette looked scared. So did the redhead, at first, but then she realized she was armed. Her expression changed to one of derision, and she brandished the knife at Viv.

Barely thinking about it, pausing not at all. Viv picked up a sauce pan from the counter and threw it at the redhead, aiming for her hand. Her aim was true, and the knife clattered to the floor.

Then Viv just lunged.

* * *

For a time, all she knew was rage.

She felt flesh give under her fists, her nails, she felt the hot slick of blood between her fingers.

She felt fingers winding into her hair. She felt the slice of nails on her cheek.

She heard screaming.

But all she knew was rage.

* * *

Phil had her lifted up in a bear hug, her back against his chest, and she was kicking and fighting and screaming to get free. Tigger was barking and growling like a crazed wolf. Bobby was standing in front of her yelling her name. She stopped fighting and looked around, trying to get her bearings back.

The kitchen was full of people. The redhead was on the floor, bleeding from her mouth and nose, her cheek red and swelling. The brunette was wedged in the corner of the counter. Gemma had charge of them. Tara was holding Tigger back, keeping him from Phil.

"Put me down, Phil. Don't fuckin' touch me." He set her down. She was panting and shaking. Her hands hurt like crazy, and her cheek was on fire. She looked down to see that her knuckles were shredded. The fingers she put to her face came back bloody. She looked over at her dog and signed to him, her hand flat, palm down, ignoring the sting. "Easy, Tigger. Sit." He settled immediately and sat. Tara let him loose; Phil jumped back a little, but the dog was off him.

Bobby put his hands on her shoulders. "Missy, you are gonna get us all killed. Something happens to you, and your old man will go through this place with a machete. You need to calm the hell down and rest. Go with Tara."

She was not fucking done. Not until those bitches were gone. She shrugged his hands off her. "No way, Bobby." She gestured toward the corner, where Gemma had the girls contained. "They—"

He put his hand on her unhurt cheek. "I know, sugar. I got it. You go with Tara and settle down. You gotta take some care. They're gone, I promise."

Tara came up and pulled on her arm. She looked at the redhead for another long moment, meeting her eyes, making sure she never again thought of fucking "doe eyes" when she thought of Happy Lowman's old lady. Then, calling Tigger to follow, she let Tara lead her back to the main room, back to the couch they'd been sitting on earlier.

When Viv sat, Tara stood back. "You stay put. I'm going to get my kit and clean up your hands and face. God, Viv. If you want a miscarriage, that's the way to go about it."

As before, Viv laid her head back and closed her eyes. "Doesn't matter."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **I hate writing action. It's sooo hard for me to write, and I know I don't do it well. But I'm trying to get better. Hence: action.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. The rest is from my freaky head.

* * *

**CHAPTER 30:  
**"Evil," Howlin' Wolf

Stealth in the middle of the day was no easy matter, but the woods were dense and dark, and the guards in them were focused forward toward their superiors. Expecting any trouble to come head-on, they were caught out by the sneak attack from behind. The whole line—at least twenty—fell to the ten Sons, Mayans, and Galindos who crept up behind them. Hap took down three Lobos, snapping their necks and laying them gently, silently on the ground.

All fell easily except one. That one turned just as Rat came up on him and yelled before Rat could slice his throat. Just as Hap, Tig and most of the others had cleared the woods and were sneaking at a run toward an old, ramshackle barn, they were made. Suddenly, bullets filled the air.

Hap was glad. He preferred a fight head on.

He swung the AK around from his back and pressed up against the back wall of the barn. He took a quick look around the corner. A black Hummer, blacked out. Probably armored. And—_holy fuck!_—Cruz, the Lobo boss, running to it, a lieutenant at his side. Hap didn't take time to think. He came around the barn, firing. Cruz went down, half his head gone, as he was reaching for the handle to the Hummer's passenger door. One Lobo down.

Happy dived at the front of the Hummer as the lieutenant started firing. Then Tig was at his side. They each checked around the sides of the truck. Nothing. The Lobo LT was shielded behind the truck. Tig looked down, under the grille, and then gestured to Hap. He looked under and saw one Lobo foot and leg, not quite secure behind the massive tire. Tig pulled his Beretta and shot under the truck. The Lobo shouted and fell.

Hap came around and opened his throat before he had a chance to master the pain from his destroyed ankle. Two down.

Tig had his own vendetta. Two years ago, Damon Pope had burned his daughter alive, forcing Tig to watch. Since then, Tig had had to tolerate the club working with Pope, because Pope was too dangerous as an enemy. Until now. Hap knew his friend wanted Pope today. Tig gestured that he was heading forward. Hap nodded and followed, his own eyes out for Lobos.

They pressed up against the side of the barn, Tig in the lead. He looked around the corner and came back. "Shit," he muttered, holding his hand close to his chest, splaying all five fingers. He did that twice—ten men up front, at close range.

They looked at each other, nodded, and cleared the corner, firing as they ran. Three Mayans followed right behind them.

Jax, Chibs, and Juice came around the other side, trailing Alvarez and a couple of Galindo soldiers. They sidled across the front of the barn, strafing as they went.

Just as Hap made the barn door, he felt an immense blow to his chest and flew backwards, landing hard on his back, well inside the barn.

Entirely out of breath, he almost blacked out. He heard Jax calling as if from a great distance, "Happy! Hap! You whole?"

He forced air in and croaked, "Yeah!" He looked down at the flattened bullet embedded in his vest. Large caliber, .44 at least. Right over his heart. Mastering the pain, he rolled to the side and stood to rejoin the fight.

All the Sons but Tig, Rat, and V-Lin were in the barn, shooting from good cover. Hap peered around the edge of the entrance and scanned the site for his brothers, particularly Tig. He found him on his knees over a body—hard to tell, but based on the heedless fury with which he was driving the butt of his AK into what had been a head, Hap figured it was Pope.

A Niner was sighted on Tig. Hap tried to yell, but he hadn't recovered enough breath yet. He couldn't shoot the AK so close to Tig, so he reached to pull his Glock from its holster.

It wasn't there. He gestured wildly at his brothers across the doorway. "Cover Tig!" he yelled as much as he could, still having trouble drawing a full breath. "Cover Tig!"

It was too late; Tig was down. The only brother alive Hap also called friend. He didn't know if Tig had been wearing a vest, but he knew he hated them. And Tig wasn't moving.

Hap had had enough; the red rage was on him. He changed the clip in his AK. He took a deep, painful breath—sprung ribs, no doubt—and yelled. It came out as a hoarse scream; he didn't care. Not thinking of Vivian, not thinking of Tig, not thinking of himself, not thinking of anything, feeling only fury and hate, he came out of cover and walked into the fray, shooting and shouting.

He heard Chibs yell, "Christ!"

Jax called, "Fuck! Cover him! Go now!" Hap kept walking, firing until he emptied the clip. Then he threw down his AK and yanked another off a body. He emptied that clip. He didn't stop until he'd run out of people to kill.

He hadn't been hit again. He threw down the empty AK and stalked back to the barn. He picked up his Glock from where it had been knocked out when he'd fallen. As he was coming back out of the barn, he noticed a rusty scythe hanging on the wall by the door.

A Reaper weapon if ever there was one.

He pulled it off the wall and stalked to where Cruz's body lay. Insensible to the screaming pain in his chest, he hacked at it with the ancient, dull blade until there was nothing left but a mass of offal. Awash in blood and still carrying the scythe, he strode around and methodically shot the eyes out of the Lobo bodies until his Glock was empty.

Then he stood in the middle of the carnage, a bloody, scythe-wielding Reaper, and roared into the sun.

From the moment he'd walked out of the barn firing the AK, he'd been outside himself. Now, he came back in and looked around. There were clusters of Mayans and Galindos, attending to the wounded or dealing with bodies. He didn't see Juice, Rat, or V-Lin.

Henry Lin's gold Escalade was missing. He must have gotten away.

Jax and Chibs were with Tig, who was still down. Hap went to them. Chibs watched him come, regarding him silently.

Jax looked up. "He's alive—vest took the kill shot. But looks like another shot got around the vest, maybe hit his lung. We gotta get him help—right now."

Their van was a good distance away. Hap said, "Keys are in the Lobo Hummer."

Jax nodded. "Hap, Chibs, you take him. I gotta find Juice, V-Lin and Rat, figure out the net of this shit."

Hap and Chibs carried their brother off the battleground.

* * *

Much later, Jax, Alvarez, and Romeo gathered their men away from the clubhouse and their families, in a vacant building a ways off Highway 99, for a debrief.

Tig was in critical condition, but they expected him to pull through. Rat had been shot in the shoulder and knee; he might never ride again. Juice had taken one in the arm; another had carved a gouge out of his neck. The rest of the Sons were whole, for the most part.

Alvarez had lost two men, including his second in command. The Galindos had lost one.

Ramon Cruz and Damon Pope were both dead, as well as every Lobo and Niner present. Henry Lin and his crew had fled en masse at the first sign of trouble and had gotten away.

It was safe to say that the Lobo Sonora cartel, as well as Damon Pope's empire, were both materially compromised, if not destroyed.

Not bad for a day's work, but at substantial cost. Three Sons in the hospital. And they were still entangled with the Galindos. There didn't seem to be a way out for them.

Their business conducted, their battle waged and won, the Sons still standing returned to the clubhouse and their families.

* * *

Hap was tired in his bones when they got back to T-M. His chest hurt something fierce, and he was sticky with dried blood. He was worried about Vivian seeing him like this. He didn't want to scare her, especially not now, but he was desperate to see her. He wished he'd had a chance to call first, prep her.

He went into the clubhouse. He looked around but didn't see her. Bobby called him over to the bar, and Hap went.

"Where is she?"

"She's back in the apartment, lying down. Sleeping, I hope. She had a rough day. You need to sit a minute and hear about it before you go back there. But first you gotta promise to maintain."

He sat. "Fuck, Bobby. I'm not promising shit. What the fuck happened?"

"She got into it with a couple of the girls. Lori and Brynna."

Hap had no idea who they were, and for a second he stared blankly. He was exhausted and sore, getting more so every second, otherwise he would have connected all the dots right away. Bobby looked disgusted. "Shit, Hap. I gotta draw you a picture? Tall, tatted redhead? Little brunette with the fancy belly jewelry? You fucked 'em. Viv heard 'em talkin' about you. There was a confrontation. Lori said Brynna waved a knife."

Hap leapt back to his feet, his own pain and fatigue forgotten. The bar stool toppled and crashed noisily to the floor behind him. "_WHAT THE FUCK_?"

Bobby leaned forward. "I said _maintain_, brother. Your temper isn't gonna do your old lady any favors. You gotta maintain. They're gone. Handled. Tig's gonna be pissed at you—he favored Lori some. Viv is fine. She went a little nuts and put some hurt on Brynna, though, so her hands are torn up. And Brynna got a swipe in, scratched her face. But those lessons you been giving her paid off, I guess. Girl can throw a punch."

With serious effort, he refrained from grabbing his brother by the throat. He glared down at him. "You were supposed to keep her safe, Bobby."

Bobby glared right back, apparently not intimidated by the Killa towering over him, still covered in the blood of his enemies. "This is your mess, brother, not mine."

Hap needed to see her. He started to turn away, but Bobby grabbed his arm. "She's real down, Hap. You'll be walking into some shit back there. Maintain."

Jesus Christ.

Without saying more, Hap went back to the apartment and went in without knocking. Vivian was sleeping, her back to the door. Tigger was lying next to her. He was looking intently at the door when Hap went in. Though his tail usually started going when he saw Hap, now it was still.

"Hey, buddy," Hap whispered. "Off." The pup whined and laid his head on Vivian's hip. Tigger obeyed commands immediately from him, Vivian, or Tig. Except when the command separated him from her. "Off, Tigger," Hap whispered again. Tigger started to move, but whined again and stayed put. He was even more reluctant than usual to move away from her.

"Off." This time, he didn't whisper, and Tigger got off the bed, still whining. The pup came slowly around the bed to the side closest to Vivian and lay down, keeping his eyes on Hap.

For a while, Hap just stood there in the middle of the room, watching her sleep, trying to calm down. As tired and sore as he was, he was shaking with anger and worry. What the fuck was she thinking? Putting herself at risk—going after somebody who had a _damn knife_! And in her condition! But Bobby was right. This was his mess. He'd thrown her into this fucking pit of vipers and left her here to deal with it alone. He needed to stay calm. He stood there, breathing slowly, until calm happened.

He looked down to see Tigger still eying him steadily from where he lay at the side of the bed, and Hap saw clearly that as far as the dog was concerned, Vivian was the priority. He realized that he was coming off as a potential threat, standing there fuming, covered in blood. Pup had himself a killer stare. Good boy. "S'okay, buddy. I'm good."

Before he lay down next to his wife, Hap washed up in the bathroom. His jeans were stiff with blood, so he stripped to his boxers. The mirror told him he needed to cover his chest before Vivian saw him. He looked in the room before he came out. Vivian was still sleeping undisturbed. She rarely slept so deeply; she must have been wiped out. He grabbed a clean t-shirt out of the drawer where they were stocked and pulled it on, lifting his arms carefully.

He ignored the sharp tightness in his ribs as he settled in next to her. He looked at her hands, the knuckles on both broken and swollen. Through the curtain of her hair, he could see a long scratch on her cheek. Christ. _What the __**fuck**__ was she thinking_? When he brushed her hair back from her face, she came awake with a startled gasp.

Tigger sat up at the sound and watched them. Hap was coming to understand that bringing him home had been a very good idea—no one was going to do Vivian harm while that beast was with her. And he was only half-grown.

"Just me, honey."

She got herself oriented quickly and grabbed at his t-shirt. "Oh, thank God. You're back. You're okay."

He smiled, "Told you I would be." Playing with her hair, he said, "Bobby tells me you had a rough day."

She sat up, and her hair slid out of his fingers. "You're okay, though, right?"

"Just said I was."

"Good. I don't want to fight with you if you're hurt. But you promised me I wouldn't have to deal with that shit."

They weren't going to fight. He'd sent the two girls he remembered away, and he'd made sure the word was out that it would go very badly for any girl who said anything to her. He hadn't been able to think of anything else to do, and it obviously hadn't been enough. But the last thing Vivian needed right now was a scene. Neither did he, frankly. If there was shit to be had, he was going to take it. "I'm not gonna fight with you, honey; you need to stay calm. You're right about it all—I thought it was handled, but I was wrong. I'm sorry. It's handled now, I hear. You okay?" He picked up one of her hands and lightly grazed his lips over her knuckles.

"Yeah. I don't really remember doing anything. But they were talking about you—and me—and I guess I just lost it."

That a couple of club cunts dared talk shit about his old lady—and that one of them waved a fucking _knife_ at her!—got Hap's heart rate way up again, made him want to go handle the situation more finally. He'd have no compunction about ending them both with his bare hands. But he stayed calm; he needed to focus on his wife. "I know what that's like. But you aren't in any condition to be losing your shit. You need to be careful." He put his hand on her belly.

God, there was a baby in there again. His child. Their child.

She moved his hand away. "It doesn't matter, Hap. I talked to Tara. It's bad. We can't make any plans around me being pregnant. That's going to get taken away too." She dropped her head. "I'm so damn tired of losing everything. I'm just so damn tired."

He caressed her back as she sat next to him. He hated to see her sad. Fuck, when was she going to get some space to breathe and find a way to be happy again? She was on that road just yesterday, dammit. "I know, honey. I know. But maybe Tara's wrong. Maybe it'll be okay. We'll talk to Dr. Kovacs tomorrow, see what he says. Right now, I'm just fuckin' glad to be with you. I just want to hold you."

He lay on his back and pulled her down to his chest, trying to ignore the pain across his ribs. But when she laid her head on him, he couldn't hold back a small grunt. That fucking hurt.

She lifted her head and looked at him. "I thought you said you were okay."

"I am." His hand on her cheek, he rubbed his thumb under the scratch that filthy cunt had left.

Her eyes narrowed, and she lifted his shirt until his whole chest was bared to her gaze. Over his heart flowered a large, dark, angry bruise with a center so red it was almost a blood blister. "Jesus, Hap. Is that what I think it is?"

"It's just a bruise, Vivian. Maybe a cracked rib or two. I'm fine."

"You got _shot_? _In the heart?_"

"No. I got shot in the vest. The one you made me wear—so, good girl." He smiled, but she didn't see the humor. In fact, she looked awful—all the color had drained from her face. She jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Tigger followed her and sat at the door.

Hap figured the stack of blood-drenched clothes he'd left in there wouldn't help matters any.

She came out in a few minutes, looking shaky and pale, and got back in bed. She lay on her side, facing him. He turned carefully to his side to face her. He needed some aspirin. And whiskey.

"Don't you get yourself killed, Lowman. Don't you leave me alone." Her eyes were shiny with tears.

"I won't, honey. I keep telling you, I'm not goin' anywhere."


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **Posting this morning because I'm working until late tonight, and I'm antsy to move things along.

I hope this doesn't read like a textbook. I had trouble finding the line between enough information and just, like, way too much.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy.

* * *

**CHAPTER 31:  
**"Trouble," Ray LaMontagne

Hap and Viv sat in chairs positioned side by side in front of Dr. Kovacs' impressive burled walnut desk. Hap held her hand, withstanding her death grip around his long fingers without complaint. It hurt her sore knuckles to grip so hard, but she didn't care. They were alone in the office; one of his nurses had led them in here after Viv had been examined, had an ultrasound, and had blood drawn. No one had told them a damn thing during any of those procedures. But they'd heard the baby's heartbeat—a stirring, bittersweet moment.

They didn't speak; they just waited. Being brought into the doctor's private office, with his fancy plants and big leather chair, and his diplomas and personal photos hung on the walls—that couldn't be good. Viv thought it highly unlikely that they brought patients here for good news.

They were alone in there for what seemed like hours. Viv had memorized the photos of the doctor's three lovely children and his lovely trophy wife, of his lovely golf trips and lovely tropical vacations, by the time Dr. Kovacs came in and sat at his desk.

He didn't open a paper file. Instead, he used a tablet and swept his fingers around on the screen. Then he looked up at them. He was quiet for a couple of seconds before he said anything.

"Tell me again when your last period was?"

Viv felt raw and scared; it made her irritable. "Is making me repeat myself some kind of delaying tactic? I told you, and I told the nurse, and I told the ultrasound person. I'm not sure. I don't have them very often anymore. Maybe three months ago."

Kovacs was quiet, looking at her. "I'm sorry, Viv. There's a reason we ask more than once."

Hap cut in. "Look, Doc. She's terrified. You brought us way back here to talk to us. So just tell us the bad news so we can deal."

The doctor nodded. "First, you're considerably farther along than you might think. Based on fetal development, just over thirteen weeks. You're through the first trimester. You must have conceived right after your last period, which might indicate a normalizing of your menses. That's good, Viv. That's indication of further healing."

A tiny cable of tension and fear came loose from around her chest. Hap squeezed her hand and sat forward.

"You seem to have been asymptomatic until recently, and the beginning of the second trimester is late for symptoms like nausea and breast tenderness to _start_, but it's still normal. At this point, the fetus is developing well and the pregnancy appears stable."

Just above a whisper, Viv said, "None of that sounds bad. Why are we sitting back here?"

He set the tablet to the side, lacing his fingers in front of him on the desk. "Your reproductive system has been subjected to severe trauma. There is significant internal scarring. Against considerable odds, you are pregnant, Viv. But now the question is: should you be? This is a very high risk situation. For the baby and for you."

Again, Hap cut in. "To Vivian? What kind of risk?"

"I'm going to be direct, because I want to be clear. I think it highly unlikely that your body will be able to accommodate a growing fetus. I am concerned about miscarriage during the second trimester. If the pregnancy continues into the third trimester, my concern shifts strongly to you, Viv. Uterine rupture is a catastrophic event with a significant mortality rate when it occurs during childbirth, with a roomful of medical professionals at the ready. In your case, rupture is likely, and it could happen anywhere. Away from the hospital, it would almost certainly cause your death. And the baby's."

Viv could feel Hap's tension radiating through his hand. When he spoke, she could hear his struggle for calm. "Is uterine rupture what it sounds like?"

"Yes. The uterus opening up, inside the abdominal cavity, usually at the location of scar tissue. Again, it is a catastrophic event." He was quiet for a minute, letting all that soak in. Then he said, "I'm very sorry, Viv. But it's my medical recommendation that you terminate. The risk to your life is just too great."

It was what she was expecting, really. Tara had prepared her for this. But the blow was still crushing. She snatched her hand from Hap's and covered her face, folding over in the chair, her head on her knees.

She felt Hap's hands on her back, stroking. "Can you give us a minute, Doc?" His voice sounded tight.

"Just tell the nurse when you're ready to talk, and I'll be back." She heard him get up and walk out. Then Hap knelt at her feet, putting his head against hers.

"Aw, honey. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much." He kissed her head.

She just sat there, curled over in crash position, and felt. She felt everything. Grief for Katherine, and now for this baby. Despair for the life—the lives—she'd almost had. Rage at everything that had been taken from her. Love for this man at her feet.

And then, emerging from that morass of pain and fury and love, came a single, clear thought: _No more._

She sat up. "No. No. I'm not terminating. No. I'm not giving up."

Hap sat back on his heels. "Vivian, he said—"

She cut him off. "I don't care. I'm not giving up. I want this baby, and I'm not going down without a fight."

He grabbed her hands; his grip made the pain in them sing. "Honey, think. _You _could die."

"I don't care."

He dropped her hands and grabbed her arms instead, rising up off his heels. He shook her a little. "_Well I fucking do_! I'm not letting you risk your fucking life! No! I won't lose you! You're not leaving me alone!"

She hit him square in the chest with the flat of her palm, right on the bruise over his heart. He grunted in pain and surprise, and he let go of her arms to rub at his chest.

"Don't fucking talk to me about risking my life. You risk yours all the damn time. You think I want to lose you? You would have left me alone yesterday if I'd let you be a moron and give me that vest. This isn't your call, Hap. It's not your fight. It's mine. I'm going to have this baby or die trying. Call the doctor back in."

"Vivian, _no_."

He looked desperate, but she was resolute. She was done letting shit happen to her. She was taking control. "Call the doctor back in, Hap. Or I will, either way."

He sat back. For a long time, he just knelt there in front of her, staring at his hands on her thighs. Then he looked up at her. "Promise me you'll let me take care of you. This time, I get to carry you around on a pillow for nine months. I get to do everything I can to keep you and the baby safe. No fights, no questions. Don't make me worry about you any more than I already will be. Promise me. Please."

He grabbed her hands. "And if something happens to the baby, promise me you won't turn away from me. Promise me you'll stay with me." He laid his head in her lap.

She smiled and leaned over to kiss the snake on his scalp. "Six months."

Sitting up, his brow furrowed, he asked, "What?"

"I'm already three months along. You can carry me around on a pillow for six months. And I promise."

He laughed a little. He kissed her and got up to call the doctor back in. Then he came back and sat next to her, taking her hand. She squeezed tight, sore knuckles be damned.

This time, they only had to wait a couple of minutes before Dr. Kovacs was back in his fancy leather chair.

Viv spoke first. "I'm keeping the baby. So what does that look like?"

Kovacs looked surprised. "Viv, was I clear? This would be an extremely high risk pregnancy. It would be very dangerous for _you_."

She felt Hap's eyes on her, his hand now all but crushing hers, but she looked steadily at her doctor. "And that looks like what?"

They held a stare for several seconds before Kovacs continued. "Well, the first thing is that whatever it is that got your hands and face looking like that—that stops." Viv was shocked to see that he looked right at Hap, sitting there in his kutte, and asked, "Viv, do you need help to get it to stop?" He met Hap's steely stare impassively. This trim little doctor, with his manicure, perfect hair, and natty tie, had some big, brass balls on him.

Hap's tension was making Viv's hand vibrate a little, but he stayed quiet. She answered calmly, "I don't need help, Doctor. It's not at all what you think. I promise."

The doctor regarded her closely for several seconds, then nodded and continued, "Okay. Today, immediately—I want to do a procedure called cervical cerclage, to seal your cervix. That will help the fetus stay put. You'll have to stay at least overnight; we'll see tomorrow whether you can go home then to rest—really rest—for the next couple of days. I'm going to put you in touch with a perinatologist. I'll ask her to come see you tomorrow morning."

Hap sat forward. "What's a perinatologist?"

"Dr. Saunders specializes in high risk pregnancies." He turned to Viv. "You'll see us both. Me for your regular care, starting with visits every two weeks. You'll see her for regular ultrasounds—monthly to start, and then, if the pregnancy continues, more often, up to weekly as you approach term."

"Okay. What else?" She was already starting to feel overwhelmed, but she shoved that aside and listened.

"We'll monitor your nutrition and weight gain very carefully. You'll need enough to nourish yourself and the baby, but you _must_ be careful not to gain too much. And you'll definitely deliver by Caesarean. If we can get you to 37 weeks, we'll deliver then. We might well have to deliver earlier, but the goal is 37 weeks.

He put his forearms on his desk and leaned forward. "Viv, understand that even if you can sustain the pregnancy, you will spend at least the entire third trimester on strict bed rest—possibly even in-patient. Two or three months in bed, maybe in the hospital. And limited activity starting now. Also starting right now: no sex. No stimulation for you at all—not intercourse, not masturbation, nothing. This pregnancy will be very expensive and, if you're very lucky, extremely boring."

Of course. Ironic, now that she could come again. But she was more worried about the money thing. She looked at Hap, trying to gauge his thoughts. He turned to Kovacs.

"The money isn't a problem, Doc. Keeping her safe is the only thing that matters."

Nodding, Kovacs said, "We will do everything we can to that end. But even with as much attention and intervention as possible, there are no guarantees here. The likeliest outcome is still a sad one. There are several sad outcomes more likely than you being a family of three in the spring. I need to make sure you understand—if you succeed, you will be beating tremendous odds. I recognize how terrible a choice it is, but I really do recommend termination."

Hap pulled a little on her hand, and Viv turned to him. They looked deep into each other's eyes; Viv tried to convey in her look how much she wanted this—_needed_ this. She saw in his look his worry and love. Finally, he tipped his head in a brief nod: acquiescence.

She turned back to Dr. Kovacs. "Let's do the cervical thing."

* * *

She'd had to stay in the hospital for two nights, even though everything with the procedure went well, because Dr. Kovacs was erring on the far side of caution. She was still a little sore, but otherwise felt okay.

Hap was not fucking around when he said he was going to carry her around on a pillow. He drove about ten miles under the speed limit the whole way home. That was going to drive her nuts; she liked speed.

He pulled into the driveway and said, "Stay put." Then he came around to the passenger side of the Terrain and opened the door. He went to slide his arm under her legs.

Lord, he really was going to carry her. "Hap, I can walk!"

He just looked at her, his eyebrows up. He didn't move or say a word, but his message was clear: _You promised._

She sighed. "Fine. Carry me, slave."

First, he kissed her hard. Then, grinning, he picked her up and carried her into their home.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: **This is the last chapter, so I have a note at the end.

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Sons of Anarchy. I claim the rest—including, yes, one last original song.

* * *

**CHAPTER 32:  
**"Lovesong," Adele  
"If Not For You," Bob Dylan

_20 Weeks_

Hap came down off the ladder and looked over at Vivian, who was sitting on the porch swing, wrapped in a blanket and laughing her ass off. Tigger, who was becoming gigantic, lay at her feet.

"What's funny?"

"Um, Happy Badass Master of Pain Lowman cussing like a biker while he hangs Christmas lights. It's destined to be a comedy classic. I'm tempted to order a huge plastic Santa, just to see if you'd actually put it on the roof."

"Don't you fuckin' dare." Because he would be on the damn roof putting a damn plastic Santa up there if she really wanted one. He didn't even want to contemplate how fucking whipped he was.

So far, so good. Vivian was in good spirits and seemed to feel good most of the time. She was bored, he knew, but she was dealing with it. She was writing songs like crazy. The sound of her voice and guitar filled the house all day long. He loved it.

In addition to all the stuff she was writing for herself, she was selling rights to some songs, and she was writing specifically for some people, too. Dex had helped her figure out a way to do it so that the songs were still hers. She was starting to make some decent money—which was good, because her medical bills were already mounting. Hap was actually glad the Sons were still working with the Galindos, because he needed to earn. As careful with money as he habitually was—and Vivian was no spendthrift, either—her medical bills from before had put a big dent in what he'd banked. This pregnancy would probably drain the rest, if they weren't able to add to it.

Things were running smoothly with the Galindos. They'd gutted the Lobos during the Vacaville attack. Hap had no expectation that the rival cartel had been killed—they'd come back once before—but at least there was a respite. Muling these days was almost boring. Hap didn't mind a little boredom right now—especially not boredom that came with big stacks of cash.

He'd gone looking for the sluts who'd fought with Vivian, but Bobby had handled them straight out of town. It pissed him off no end that Bobby had taken that on himself and let them off so easy after they'd disrespected—_and_ _threatened_, _hurt!_—_his_ wife, but he wasn't about to leave her to go off on a hunt for a couple of used-up gashes. As long as they stayed clear of Charming and the Sons, he'd let it lie.

At least now all the girls at the clubhouse had an object lesson to remind them that Hap was off limits and that their tongues had better stay tied where he was concerned.

His first priority was to take care of his wife. He couldn't be with her every second, but he made damn sure Vivian was never, ever alone. There was always at least a Prospect, usually Pepboy, with her. He'd had to go out on overnight runs a few times, but he made sure there was a parade of people taking care of her. She hated it, but she was true to her word, letting him fuss over her as much as he needed to—and that was a lot. With every doctor's appointment they both got increasingly hopeful and, therefore, increasingly worried. If he could figure out how to carry her around on an actual pillow, he'd do it.

The next day, she had an appointment for her monthly ultrasound, and they were expecting to find out the baby's sex. He fretted. He felt like that would be the point of no return for him, the point where if something happened, he wouldn't be able to deal. He hadn't said anything to Vivian, but he thought she'd understand. He thought she felt the same way.

* * *

_21 Weeks_

When he came in a week or so later, Pepboy was stringing lights around a big Douglas fir in the living room, while Vivian stood at the dining room table, sorting ornaments. Tigger was sniffing around the tree. Hap hoped he wouldn't think it was something okay to piss on.

He preferred to see Vivian sitting. Or lying down. Lying down was good. And as the baby grew, off her feet is where she was supposed to be. He came up behind her and put his hands on her belly, just starting to be round. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder.

"How are my girls?"

"We're good. She's moving around in there a lot today."

"Really?" He pressed his hands a little more snugly against her belly, but he couldn't feel anything.

She put her hands over his. "It's still a little early for you to feel. But I think she's got a future as a chorus girl. Or a cage fighter."

"You should sit, honey. Pep will put the ornaments on—you just tell him where."

She leaned back against his chest. "I've only been up for about 15 minutes. I'll sit again in just a few. I want to get these organized, and then yeah, I'll let Pep do the work." She looked over at the Prospect across the room. "That okay with you, baby?"

Pepboy grinned. "Definitely. I like doing the tree. Christmas is awesome."

She grinned. "You're a good boy, Peppy."

Hap stepped back and took her in. She was strong and fiery and focused. She was even happy, despite the worry and care that came with this pregnancy. It was as if deciding to fight for this baby had closed a circuit in her that had been cut in that concrete room. He was inexpressibly glad to have her back like this, but the thought that something would happen and he'd lose her for good tore at him every second of the day and night.

He took a breath and pulled her close again. "Hey, I have something for the tree." He brought a small box out of his kutte and handed it to her. She turned to look over her shoulder at him; then, with a smile, she took it and opened it.

Inside lay a small silver picture frame, a pink satin cord tied to the top. The frame held the photo of Hap holding Katherine. Her name, Katherine Belle, was engraved on the bottom. Hap had decided not to add a date.

Vivian picked it up from the box by the satin cord and dangled it before her eyes. She was quiet at first. Then she whispered, "Oh, Hap," and turned in his arms to press her face against his chest. She was crying.

Hap looked over at Pepboy and jerked his head toward the doorway. Pep immediately made himself scarce. When the Prospect was gone, Hap held his wife close. "Is it wrong? Should I not have done it?"

She sniffed and looked up at him. "No! It's perfect. I love it. I just miss her."

"Me too, honey." He pulled her hair back in one hand and kissed her neck. "I love you."

She squeezed closer. "I love you. You're a good man, Hap. You have a good heart."

If that was true, he thought, it was because she was in it.

* * *

_24 Weeks_

Hap was back late from an overnight run—the last one he'd go on until after the pregnancy was over. She was getting too close to the dangerous third trimester for him to be far from home. He'd sent Joey home. Vivian wasn't in the living room or kitchen, so he started down the hall toward the bedrooms. He came up short and flipped the hall light switch.

When he'd left, the walls in the hallway had been bare. Now, they were covered with photos. There were old photos of Vivian's grandparents—shots of them performing together, close-ups of her grandmother singing behind a big 40s-era microphone, artily shot promotional photos and head shots. A few of Vivian as a beautiful little girl with intense eyes and wild long hair. Photos of Vivian performing with Leather. Photos of Vivian and Hap. He didn't even know most of these existed.

Most surprising were all the photos of _his_ family. Old pictures of his grandfather in his Navy uniform, of his grandmother as a young bride, and of his mother as a baby and a little girl. His mom's high school graduation photo—damn, she'd been gorgeous, like Rita Hayworth. He'd forgotten. Pictures of him and his sister as children. Of his sister with her boys. His heart clenched.

These were from his mother's house in Bakersfield. He'd boxed them up and brought them home after closing out and selling her house, but he hadn't been able to look at them again. They'd been shoved on a shelf in the garage all this time. How the hell had she found these?

A picture of Hap with black hair and a fucking ridiculous porn 'stache at his patch party. Photos of him with the Sons in Tacoma and in Charming. One he'd never seen of him and Koz playing pool in Tacoma.

How the hell had she even _gotten_ these?

And nestled under a picture of Hap and Vivian kissing outside the courthouse on the day they were married, was the little silver frame, with Katherine's photo.

Christ. He stood stuck in the hallway, stunned.

Vivian came out of the bedroom, looking shy. "Hi. I hope this is okay."

"I've barely been gone a day and a half. How'd you do all this?"

"I've been working on it for a couple of weeks. I had Joey hang them this afternoon. Is it okay?"

"How'd you get these?"

"I found the boxes in the garage a long time ago. I let them sit because you hadn't said anything about them. But then I got the idea for the hallway, and I wanted your life up here with mine. I'm sorry I didn't ask. I wanted it to be a surprise. Until right now, I hadn't thought you might hate it. If you hate it, I'm sorry."

"I don't hate it, honey. It's amazing."

She smiled, and he could see her relax. "Gemma helped me with the Sons pictures. The rest are mine, of course."

"Why'd you do it?"

"It's our family. I want her to know her family. She'll never get to meet most of the people up here, so I want her to get to see them at their best, doing the things they loved. I tried to tell a story, I guess. I didn't get a chance to know your family, but I picked the pictures where they looked happiest. I hope that's okay."

He pulled her into his arms. "It really is amazing, Vivian. I love it." He kissed her, then leaned back and looked down into her upturned face. "There's a lot of hope in your reason, though. I thought you were holding back."

Shrugging, she said, "I can't. I know I'll probably get fucked over, but I think about her all day, and I plan. I see her in our life."

"Me too, honey. Me too."

* * *

_26 weeks_

"Fuck, Vivian. Oh, fuck. _Christ_." Where the hell did she learn that? He was far down her throat, and she was humming around him. She had one hand around his shaft and was squeezing firmly. But the other was circled, thumb and forefinger, around the base of his balls and squeezing pretty firmly there, too. If he'd been asked if he would like it, he would have said unequivocally no—absolutely no ball-squeezing. But she hadn't asked. And _fuck_. He had his hands wound in her hair, but he was losing control, and he was afraid he'd hurt her if he clutched her too tight. So he let go of her hair and grabbed the brass headboard behind him. He was going to go—and then she released his balls and cock and pulled away to lick lightly at his tip.

That was the third time she'd brought him to the brink and pulled him back. She was clearly getting far too much practice sucking him off in the three months since the sex ban had started. She'd always given excellent head, but she'd been getting inventive during these months.

"You're gonna kill me," he panted. "Jesus Christ. I think you're really trying to kill me." He looked down his body to see her stretched out along his legs, naked, grinning up at him.

"Come on, Hap. You gotta have more stamina than that." Her grin was positively devilish. Saucy wench.

She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock again and sucked him down. This time, she took pity on him and sucked and squeezed enthusiastically until he exploded in her mouth with a roar, arching off the bed. She swallowed until he was done. _Fuck_.

She came carefully back up and lay next to him, and he turned to face her. He put his hand on her belly and rubbed. Feeling the baby move around a little, he smiled. "Hey, little miss." Vivian made a small noise of discomfort; he looked at her. "You feeling okay? Does it hurt when she moves?"

"Only a little, only sometimes. I'm being careful."

"I know you are." But they were at the end of the second trimester, and now the really risky part started. Hap had become used to the feeling of adrenaline chugging through his blood.

He'd just gotten his last blow job for a long while, because she was on strict bed rest now. The doctor hadn't banned that kind of sex, but with everything she was going to be dealing with, there was no way Hap was going to let her be eye-level with his crotch just so he could get off.

He lightly kissed the letters tattooed on her side, caressing her skin with his nose, and she closed her eyes with a little purr. The words were stretching out as the baby grew. For the first time almost since he'd inked her, he really read the verse.

"Vivian, I know what I want to call her."

* * *

_31 weeks_

Hap woke, tense and alert, but he didn't know why. He looked over; Vivian was sleeping on her side, facing him. He sat still, listening. Then he noticed that Tigger—too big to sleep on the bed anymore—was sitting up at her side, staring at her.

"What's up, bud?" he whispered. The dog whined and sniffed around her midsection.

And then Vivian groaned in her sleep, a sound of pain. He sat up and tore the covers back. Even in the dim light from the window, he could see there was a dark stain on her grey yoga pants, at the top of her thighs.

She was bleeding.

He turned on the lamp on his nightstand. He grabbed his phone and pressed the number he'd keyed to the doctor's emergency line. At the same time, he started waking her. "Honey, wake up." He mastered the huge adrenaline spike and spoke softly, shaking her shoulder gently. "Vivian." She stirred but fought waking. That was unlike her and worried him more. The service answered. He gave them the information in as few words as possible and ended the call.

He shook her again. "Honey, you gotta wake up." She opened her eyes, then groaned again and grabbed her belly. "Ow. What—?" She looked down. "Oh, Hap!"

As soon as she was awake he was out of bed and pulling his jeans and boots on. "Stay calm, honey. I'm getting you out of here right now." He gathered her up in his arms and ran out of the house.

* * *

Dr. Kovacs stood at the end of her bed. Hap stood at her side, holding her hand. She was almost flat on her back, the bed adjusted so her feet were raised.

"The good news is that it was your cervix, not your uterus, bleeding. So far, your uterus remains intact. The cerclage is failing, though. We can't fix it, so you are on your back for the next six weeks, or as long as we can keep that little girl where she belongs, whichever comes first. You'd started labor, so we've got you on medication to hold it off, as well as some meds to help her lungs get strong. Now comes the hard part, Viv. You're not getting out of that bed or off your back. You are going to get very uncomfortable, and the meds are going to make you feel even worse."

"I'll be fine, Doctor. I'll deal."

He smiled. "You're one tough broad, Viv."

Hap looked at her. "You got no idea, Doc."

* * *

_36 weeks_

Hap was struggling mightily not to lose his shit, pacing the surgery waiting room. The room was full of Sons, but they were wisely giving him his space.

Vivian's uterus had ruptured a few hours ago. They'd rushed her into surgery, but they wouldn't let him stay with her. She was all alone in there. He knew she was out of it and didn't know she was alone, but still. He hated not being with her. She'd been terrified and in pain when they'd taken her away.

Jesus fucking Christ, he was sick of seeing her terrified and in pain. Somebody needed to cut her a fucking break.

She'd made it all the way to 36 weeks, just one week shy of safety. She'd toughed out the last five weeks trapped on her back in a fucking hospital bed, feeling like crap, and she'd never complained even one goddamn time. She'd fought for this baby like a warrior. If he lost her now—Jesus fucking Christ.

Hap paced and fretted for another hour before Janelle, a nurse who'd been taking care of Vivian during her stay, and whom he had thus gotten to know a little, came in, holding a small, pink bundle. "Happy?" All the Sons stood; Hap walked to her. "We don't usually do this, bring the baby out like this, but meet your daughter, Happy."

He looked at Janelle. "How's my wife? Is she okay?"

He asked even though he'd had enough experience with hospitals by now to know nurses never gave out that kind of information, but Janelle smiled, and Hap took that as a good sign. He felt months—fuck, _years_—of tension start to loosen its hold at the base of his spine. "They're taking her to recovery now, and you'll be able to see her soon. The doctor will be out to talk to you in the meantime. Do you want to hold your little girl?"

Instead of answering her question, he asked, "Should she be out here? She came early—shouldn't she be in one of those incubator things?"

Janelle laughed. "Nope. She's legal. 36 is the magic number. And this little cupcake is a fighter—she got a combined Apgar of 9!"

Hap had no idea what that meant, but it was apparently good. She was healthy. More tension eased.

Hap looked down into a tiny, perfect, sleeping face. She had a tiny pink striped beanie on. He pulled it off; he wanted to see all of her. Fuck, she looked just like Katherine. She even had the same mass of soft black hair, standing straight up.

"Do you want to hold her, Happy?" Janelle asked again.

Hap felt slow and stupid. Janelle reached into a pocket in her smock and pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. "Here, use this." He held out his hand; she squirted a little into it, and he rubbed it over his hands. "Okay. Do you know how to hold a baby?"

He did; he'd taken care of his nephews when they were little, and he'd held Abel and Thomas on many occasions. He took his daughter into his arms. His warm, soft, living, breathing, perfect little girl. His heart swelled until he thought it would break his ribs.

All the Sons clustered around like a flock of hens. He pulled her away. "Keep your distance, you germy sons of bitches. Wash up or get lost."

Janelle, smiling, walked around squirting hand sanitizer into rough biker hands. Tig was the first one to come close. "Aw, man, she's a looker—like her mama. Lucky thing. She coulda ended up with her dad's ugly mug."

Jax came up. "Hey, little darlin'.'" He gently slid on her head a pink beanie with a tiny Reaper on the front. Hap looked up with a grin.

Chibs asked, "She've a name yet, brutha?"

At that precise moment, she opened her eyes, as if she, too, were curious to know her name. She had deep, dark, serious eyes, and she looked right at her father with a little furrow in her brow. Hap knew she couldn't really be seeing him clearly, but it sure seemed like she was.

"She's Hope."

* * *

Hap was coming up from the cafeteria a few days later when he ran into Tig, who was carrying an enormous white stuffed unicorn with a silver horn about three feet long. A huge rainbow-striped bow was tied around its neck.

"Christ, Tig. What the fuck is that?"

"It's for Hope. All little girls love unicorns—I know this to be true."

"Yeah, but look at that thing. It looks angry. And hungry. Like it wants to eat small children. That is one scary-ass animal. You are not giving my daughter nightmares, you freak."

"What? She'll love it. I promise."

They were nearing Vivian's room. Her door was open, and Hap heard her singing. He grabbed Tig's arm to stop him, and he put his finger to his lips. He wanted to listen. He knew the tune—it was one of her own. She'd been playing it a lot in the weeks before she'd landed in the hospital. It was a soft, sweet tune, like a lullaby. He hadn't known there were words, but she was singing them now. It _was_ a lullaby.

_They say it's a thing with feathers,  
Singing a wordless song.  
A tiny bird against the wind  
Fighting storms all alone._

_They call it dawn after darkest night  
Chasing shadows from your way.  
A gleaming star to light you home  
Turning night into the day._

_They say it springs eternal  
Living in every breast.  
A beating heart that courses life  
Defying every test._

_They say it rises from the ashes  
Eating the fire of its death.  
Fiercer now, a wiser friend  
Courage on its breath._

He moved to the doorway so he could see her. She was sitting up in bed; Hope, their daughter, was lying longwise on her thighs, staring up at her mother, her tiny fists grasping her mother's thumbs. Vivian looked over and beamed, still singing, when she saw Hap.

_You, my love, are Hope to me.  
The Phoenix rising strong.  
You, my child, are Hope to me.  
My life, my love, my song._

Hap looked at his friend. Tig swiped at his eyes. "Shit, man. That's beautiful."

"Yeah." Everything his old lady did was beautiful.

THE END

* * *

**A/N: (Geez, sorry this note is so long!)**

I'm always sad when a story ends, but even more this time, I think. This was a wild ride for me, but I think maybe, in the end, I have loved writing this one most of all.

Big, huge, _ginormous_ thanks to the friends I've made:

To the freak circle: **MuckyShroom, Simone Santos, R3-1 M4y3r, ozzysgirl, EmeraldJewelSparkle, Kiara8921. **I don't exaggerate to say that you saved my whole profile. I had my finger on the "delete" button, but you helped me find my gumption. I'm thrilled to have been brought into the circle for talks about frozen poultry abuse and medieval torture techniques. Oh, and hip muscles.

(In context, that's not as weird as it sounds—no, wait. It totally is.)

And **Mucky**: thank you for your idea about integrating my photo wall trope here, and for your encouragement about the trope itself. I hope you like the little thank you gift I left you there at the end. ;)

And to** emilief **and **hazeleyedcurly**: my work is better because of the questions you ask and the discussions we have about craft. I love our chats. Thank you.

If you're not reading these guys, you should be. They are telling all kinds of interesting SOA stories in all sorts of different ways. In fact, I'm going to take a break from writing (really, this time—at least a little one), so that I can catch up on my reading and reviewing.

That's not to say I don't have ideas waiting to be born. What's up next for me, if that's something you care about, is the sequel to Make Me Right, with Juice and his scrappy old lady, Frank. If you noticed that Juice really receded into the background of this story, it's because I was trying not to 1) spoil a story I haven't even written and 2) lock myself into a narrative about Frank and Juice when I'm not thinking directly about their story (although I did shoot him, so there's that). Writing everything in the same AU but with a staggered timeline is becoming very complicated, I gotta say.

I'm also noodling around with a Jax/Tara story, in the same AU. Trying to add a new wrinkle to the J/T 'verse, if I can. Probably on the dark side. I like the dark side. You might have noticed. Come on over. We have cookies.

After that, I think it'll be time to close the book on this AU. At least in the short term—though, yeah, I'm wondering how Hap and Viv do raising Hope, or if, oh, I don't know, Hope and Thomas get together some day, or you know. Ooh. Maybe Abel and Thomas are BOTH in love with Hope someday . . . . Oh, geez. Instead of "The O.C.," maybe I'll write "The M.C." Hah!

But I wouldn't hate the chance to bring some Sons back to life in other AUs.

A final note: I received some really unpleasant correspondence after I posted Chapter 17, and I've thus been thinking about this a lot. By far, the response to that chapter was supportive, encouraging, and very kind, but the small part that was not was sometimes devastating. So, I end with a request, the audience for which probably isn't reading this story any longer, but it's my only forum.

When a writer writes something you don't like, even something you find objectionable, even something you find appalling, please remember that it is extremely unlikely said writer wrote expressly to offend you. Please also remember that because you were offended doesn't mean that others will be. If you don't like a story, move on to another one.

Most writers appreciate constructive criticism, because we're trying to improve. However, I think it's fair to say that no writer appreciates her humanity, her sanity, or her morality being called into question, or to have sweeping statements made about her worth as a person. And I'm quite sure no writer appreciates being threatened with harm. Even those of us who write dark worlds and challenging plots are upset by threats and cruel words.

Writing is an act of love and faith. We who write expose something vulnerable in ourselves, and we trust our readers with it. Please be kind.

As ever, thank you for reading, reviewing, following, favoriting. I can't overstate my gratitude. I hope you enjoyed the journey, as bumpy as it was.


End file.
